OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM 


more  letters  from 
made  tneivhant  to  6/s  son 

GEORGE  HORACE  LORIMER 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
THE  HEARST  CORPORATION 


Old   Goion   Graham 


gsar> 


-  - 


V         X 


The  air  was  full  of  trouble 


(Sre  page  92) 


Old  Gorgon  Graham 

More    Letters    from   a    Self-Made 
Merchant   to    His   Son 

by  George  Horace  Lorimer 


With  pictures  by 
F.  R.  Gruger  and  Martin  Justice 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 
1904 


Copyright,  1903,  1904,  by 
George  Horace  Lorimer 

Copyright  in  Great  Britain  and  its  Colonies 

All  rights  reserved 

Copyright,  1904,  by 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

Published,  September,  1904 


FROM  A  SON 
TO  His  FATHER 


CONTENTS 


I.  From  John   Graham,   head  of  the   house   of 
Graham  &  Company,  pork  packers,  in  Chicago, 
familiarly    known    on    'Change    as    Old    Gorgon 
Graham,   to  his  son,   Pierrepont,   at  the  Union 
Stock  Yards. 

The  old  man  is  laid  up  temporarily  for 
repairs,  and  Pierrepont  has  written  asking 
if  his  father  doesn't  feel  that  he  is  qualified 
now  to  relieve  him  of  some  of  the  burden 
of  active  management  ....  3 

II.  From    John    Graham,    at    the    Schweitzer- 
kasenhof,    Carlsbad,    to   his   son,    Pierrepont,    at 
the  Union  Stock  Yards,  Chicago. 

The  head  of  the  lard  department  has  died 
suddenly,  and  Pierrepont  has  suggested 
to  the  old  man  that  there  is  a  silver  lining 
to  that  cloud  of  sorrow  .  .  .  31 

III.  From    John    Graham,    at    the    Schweitzer- 
kasenhof,   Carlsbad,    to   his   son,    Pierrepont,   at 
the  Union  Stock  Yards,  Chicago. 

A  friend  of  the  young  man  has  just  pre- 
sented a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  old 
man,  and  has  exchanged  a  large  bunch  of 
stories  for  a  small  roll  of  bills  .  .  -47 

vii 


CONTENTS 


Page 

IV.  From  John    Graham,    at   the    Hotel   Cecil, 
London,   to  his  son,    Pierrepont,   at  the   Union 
Stock  Yards,  Chicago. 

The  old  man  has  just  finished  going  through 
the  young  man's  first  report  as  manager 
of  the  lard  department,  and  he  finds  it 
suspiciously  good 71 

V.  From  John  Graham,  at  the  Waldorf-Astoria, 
New  York,  to  his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  the  Union 
Stock  Yards,  Chicago. 

The  young  man  has  hinted  vaguely  of  a 
quarrel  between  himself  and  Helen  Heath, 
is  :;i  AYiy  York  with  her  mother,  and 
has  suggested  that  the  old  man  act  as  peace- 
maker .  .  .  .  .  .  .91 

VI.  From  John  Graham,  at  the  Waldorf-Astoria, 
New  York,  to  his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  the  Union 
Stock  Yards,  Chicago. 

The  young  man  has  written  describing  the 
magnificent  wedding  presents  that  are  being 
:  'cd,  and  hinting  discreetly  that  it  -would 
not  come  amiss  if  he  knew  what  shape  the 
old  man's  was  going  to  take,  as  he  needs 

:;ey          .         .         .          .          .          .11: 

VII.  From  John  Graham,   at   the   Union  Stock 
Is,  Chicago,  to  his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  Yemas- 

see-on-the-Tallahassee. 

The  young  man  is  now  in  the  third  quarter 
of    the  honeymoon,   and    the  old  man  has 
.  that  it  ;.v  ti'iic  h>  bring  him  fluttering 
down  to  earth 137 

viii 


CONTENTS 


Page 

VIII.  From  John  Graham,  at   the  Union  Stock 
Yards,  Chicago,  to  his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  Yemas- 
see-on-the-Tallahassee. 

In  replying  to  his  father's  hint  that  it  is  time 
to  turn  his  thoughts  from  love  to  lard,  the 
young  man  has  quoted  a  French  sentence, 
and  the  old  man  has  been  both  pained  and 
puzzled  by  it 157 

IX.  From  John  Graham,   at  the   Union  Stock 
Yards,  Chicago,  to  his   son,    Pierrepont,    care   of 
Graham  &  Company's  brokers,  Atlanta. 

Following  the  old  man's  suggestion,  the 
young  man  has  rounded  out  the  honeymoon 
into  a  harvest  moon,  and  is  sending  in  some 
very  satisfactory  orders  to  the  house  .  ,  179 

X.  From  John  Graham,  at  Mount  Clematis,  Mich- 
igan, to  his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  the  Union  Stock 
Yards,  Chicago. 

The  young  man  has  done  famously  during 
the  first  year  of  his  married  life,  and  the  old 
man  has  decided  to  give  him  a  more  impor- 
tant position  .  .  .  • 199 

XI.  From  John  Graham,  at  Mount  Clematis,  Mich- 
igan, to  his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  the  Union  Stock 
Yards,  Chicago. 

The  young  man  has  sent  the  old  man  a  dose 
of  his  own  medicine,  advice,  and  he  is  prov- 
ing himself  a  good  doctor  by  taking  it  .     .     225 
ix 


CONTENTS 


Page 

XII.  From  John  Graham,  at  Magnolia  Villa,  on 
the  Florida  Coast,  to  his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  the 
Union  Stock  Yards,  Chicago. 

The  old  man  has  started  back  to  Nature,  but 
he  hasn't  gone  quite  far  enough  to  lose  sight 
of  his  business  altogether 249 

XIII.  From   John  Graham,  at  the  Union  Stock 
Yards,  Chicago,   to   his   son,  Pierrepont,  care  of 
Graham  &  Company,  Denver. 

The  young  man  has  been  offered  a  large 
interest  in  a  big  thing  at  a  small  price,  and 
he  has  written  asking  the  old  man  to  lend 
him  the  price 267 

XIV.  From  John  Graham,  at  the  Omaha  branch 
of  Graham  &  Company,  to  his  son,  Pierrepont,  at 
the  Union  Stock  Yards,  Chicago. 

The  old  man  has  been  advised  by  wire  of  the 
arrival  of  a  prospective  partner,  and  that 
the  mother,  the  son,  and  the  business  are  all 
doing  well 291 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  air  was  full  of  trouble        .         .         .     Frontispiece 

Facing  Page 

"  We'll  make  the  young  people's  society  ride  this 

rooster  out  of  town  on  a  rail "        .          .          .       20 

Jolly  Old  Binder 38 

He  had  figured  out  his  system  by  logarithms         .       48 
Sol  had  started  out  in  life  to  be  a  great  musician. 
Had  raised  the  hair  for  the  job,  and  had  kept 
his  finger-nails  cut  just  right  for  it          .          .       62 
"  That's  it — good  lard  gone  wrong"      ...       So 
Allowed  that  there  was  just  one  part  of  the  here- 
after where  meals  were  cooked  on  Sunday  .       88 
"  Tried  to  bust  your  poor  old  father  "   .         .         .128 
Mr.  Percy — the  "  great  bull-calf,"  before  and  after     132 
Crying  into  her  third  plate  of  ice  cream         .          .138 
"  N-n-nothin'  but  a  drink  of  water  "     .          .          .152 
Went  for  him  in  broken  Bostonese        .         .         .162 
Exchanging  the  grip  of  the  third  degree        .          .182 
I  don't  really  need  a  tarpon    .    .    .    but  I  need 

a  burned  neck  and  a  peeled  nose  .  .  .226 
.  .  .  and  sob  out  on  the  butler's  shoulder .  .  228 
"  Say,  Mr.  Graham,  don't  you  want  that  suit  of 

clothes  back  ?"  ....     262 


XI 


No.  1 


FROM  John  Graham, 
head  of  the  house  of 
Graham  &  Company, 
pork  packers,  in  Chicago, 
familiarly  known  on 
'Change  as  Old  Gorgon 
Graham,  to  his  son,  Pierre- 
pont,  at  the  Union  Stock 
Yards.  The  old  man  is 
laid  up  temporarily  for  re- 
pairs, and  Pierrepont  has 
written  asking  if  his  father 
doesn't  feel  that  he  is  quali- 
fied now  to  relieve  him  of 
some  of  the  burden  of  active 
management. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO   HIS  SON 

I 

CARLSBAD,  October  4,  189-. 

Dear  Pierrepont:  I'm  sorry  you  ask 
so  many  questions  that  you  haven't  a 
right  to  ask,  because  you  put  yourself 
in  the  position  of  the  inquisitive  bull-pup 
who  started  out  to  smell  the  third  rail 
on  the  trolley  right-of-way — you're  going 
to  be  full  of  information  in  a  minute. 

In  the  first  place,  it  looks  as  if  business 
might  be  pretty  good  this  fall,  and  I'm 
afraid  you'll  have  your  hands  so  full  in 
your  place  as  assistant  manager  of  the 
lard  department  that  you  won't  have 
time  to  run  my  job,  too. 

Then  I  don't  propose  to  break  any 
quick-promotion  records  with  you,  just 
because  you  happened  to  be  born  into  a 

3 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

job  with  the  house.  A  fond  father  and  a 
fool  son  hitch  up  into  a  bad  team,  and  a 
good  business  makes  a  poor  family 
carryall.  Out  of  business  hours  I  like  you 
better  than  any  one  at  the  office,  but  in 
them  there  are  about  twenty  men  ahead 
of  you  in  my  affections.  The  way  for 
you  to  get  first  place  is  by  racing  fair 
and  square,  and  not  by  using  your  old 
daddy  as  a  spring-board  from  which  to 
jump  over  their  heads.  A  man's  son  is 
entitled  to  a  chance  in  his  business,  but 
not  to  a  cinch. 

It's  been  my  experience  that  when  an 
office  begins  to  look  like  a  family  tree, 
you'll  find  worms  tucked  away  snug  and 
cheerful  in  most  of  the  apples.  A  fel- 
low with  an  office  full  of  relatives  is  like 
a  sow  with  a  litter  of  pigs — apt  to  get 
a  little  thin  and  peaked  as  the  others 
fat  up.  A  receiver  is  next  of  kin  to  a 
business  man's  relatives,  and  after  they 
are  all  nicely  settled  in  the  office  they're 
not  long  in  finding  a  job  for  him  there, 

4 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

too.  I  want  you  to  get  this  firmly  fixed1 
in  your  mind,  because  while  you  haven't 
many  relatives  to  hire,  if  you  ever  get  to 
be  the  head  of  the  house,  you'll  no  doubt 
marry  a  few  with  your  wife. 

For  every  man  that  the  Lord  makes 
smart  enough  to  help  himself,  He  makes 
two  who  have  to  be  helped.  When  your 
two  come  to  you  for  jobs,  pay  them  good 
salaries  to  keep  out  of  the  office.  Blood 
is  thicker  than  water,  I  know,  but  when 
it's  the  blood  of  your  wife's  second  cousin 
out  of  a  job,  it's  apt  to  be  thicker  than 
molasses — and  stickier  than  glue  when 
it  touches  a  good  thing.  After  you  have 
found  ninety-nine  sound  reasons  for 
hiring  a  man,  it's  all  right  to  let  his  rela- 
tionship to  you  be  the  hundredth.  It'll 
be  the  only  bad  reason  in  the  bunch. 

I  simply  mention  this  in  passing,  be- 
cause, as  I  have  said,  you  ain't  likely 
to  be  hiring  men  for  a  little  while  yet. 
But  so  long  as  the  subject  is  up,  I  might 
as  well  add  that  when  I  retire  it  will  be 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

to  the  cemetery.  And  I  should  advise 
you  to  anchor  me  there  with  a  pretty 
heavy  monument,  because  it  wouldn't 
take  more  than  two  such  statements  of 
manufacturing  cost  as  I  have  just  re- 
ceived from  your  department  to  bring 
me  back  from  the  graveyard  to  the  Stock 
Yards  on  the  jump.  And  until  I  do  re- 
tire you  don't  wrant  to  play  too  far  from 
first  base.  The  man  at  the  bat  will  al- 
ways strike  himself  out  quick  enough  if 
he  has  forgotten  how  to  find  the  pitcher's 
curves,  so  you  needn't  worry  about  that. 
But  you  want  to  be  ready  all  the  time  in 
case  he  should  bat  a  few  hot  ones  in  your 
direction. 

Some  men  are  like  oak  leaves — they 
don't  know  when  they're  dead,  but  still 
hang  right  on;  and  there  are  others  who 
let  go  before  anything  has  really  touched 
them.  Of  course,  I  may  be  in  the  first 
class,  but  you  can  be  dead  sure  that  I 
don't  propose  to  get  into  the  second,  even 
though  I  know  a  lot  of  people  say  I'm  an 
6 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

old  hog  to  keep  right  along  working  after 
I've  made  more  money  than  I  know  how 
to  spend,  and  more  than  I  could  spend  if 
I  knew  how.  It's  a  mighty  curious  thing 
how  many  people  think  that  if  a  man 
isn't  spending  his  money  their  way  he 
isn't  spending  it  right,  and  that  if  he  isn't 
enjoying  himself  according  to  their  tastes 
he  can't  be  having  a  good  time.  They 
believe  that  money  ought  to  loaf;  I  be- 
lieve that  it  ought  to  work.  They  believe 
that  money  ought  to  go  to  the  races  and 
drink  champagne;  I  believe  that  it  ought 
to  go  to  the  office  and  keep  sober. 

When  a  man  makes  a  specialty  of 
knowing  how  some  other  fellow  ought  to 
spend  his  money,  he  usually  thinks  in 
millions  and  works  for  hundreds.  There's 
only  one  poorer  hand  at  figures  than 
these  over-the-left  financiers,  and  he's 
the  fellow  who  inherits  the  old  man's 
dollars  without  his  sense.  When  a  for- 
tune comes  without  calling,  it's  apt  to 
leave  without  asking.  Inheriting  money 
7 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

is  like  being  the  second  husband  of  a 
Chicago  grass-widow — mighty  uncertain 
business,  unless  a  fellow  has  had  a  heap  of 
experience.  There's  no  use  explaining 
when  I'm  asked  why  I  keep  on  working, 
because  fellows  who  could  put  that  ques- 
tion wouldn't  understand  the  answer. 
You  could  take  these  men  and  soak  their 
heads  overnight  in  a  pailful  of  ideas,  and 
they  wouldn't  absorb  anything  but  the  few 
loose  cuss-words  that  you'd  mixed  in  for 
flavoring.  They  think  that  the  old  boys 
have  corraled  all  the  chances  and  have 
tied  up  the  youngsters  where  they  can't 

at  them ;  when  the  truth  is  that  if  we 
all  simply  quit  work  and  left  them  the 
whole  range  to  graze  over,  they'd  bray 
to  have  their  fodder  brought  to  them  in 
bales,  instead  of  starting  out  to  hunt  the 
raw  material,  as  we  had  to.  When  an 

gets  the  run  of  the  pasture  he  finds 
thistles. 

I  don't  mind  owning  up  to  you,  though, 
that  I  don't  hang  on  because  I'm  indis- 
8 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

pensable  to  the  business,  but  because 
business  is  indispensable  to  me.  I  don't 
take  much  stock  in  this  indispensable 
man  idea,  anyway.  I've  never  had  one 
working  for  me,  and  if  I  had  I'd  fire  him, 
because  a  fellow  who's  as  smart  as  that 
ought  to  be  in  business  for  himself;  and 
if  he  doesn't  get  a  chance  to  start  a  new 
one,  he's  just  naturally  going  to  eat  up 
yours.  Any  man  can  feel  reasonably 
well  satisfied  if  he's  sure  that  there's  going 
to  be  a  hole  to  look  at  when  he's  pulled 
up  by  the  roots. 

I  started  business  in  a  shanty,  and  I've 
expanded  it  into  half  a  mile  of  factories; 
I  began  with  ten  men  working  for  me,  and 
I'll  quit  with  10,000;  I  found  the  Ameri- 
can hog  in  a  mud-puddle,  without  a 
beauty  spot  on  him  except  the  curl  in  his 
tail,  and  I'm  leaving  him  nicely  packed 
in  fancy  cans  and  cases,  with  gold  medals 
hung  all  over  him.  But  after  I've  gone 
some  other  fellow  will  come  along  and 
add  a  post-graduate  course  in  pork  pack- 

9 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

ing,  and  make  what  I've  done  look  like 
a  country  school  just  after  the  teacher's 
been  licked.  And  I  want  you  to  be  that 
fellow.  For  the  present,  I  shall  report 
at  the  office  as  usual,  because  I  don't 
know  any  other  place  where  I  can  get 
ten  hours'  fun  a  day,  year  in  and  year  out. 

After  forty  years  of  close  acquaintance 
with  it,  I've  found  that  work  is  kind  to 
its  friends  and  harsh  to  its  enemies.  It 
pays  the  fellow  who  dislikes  it  his  exact 
wages,  and  they're  generally  pretty  small; 
but  it  gives  the  man  who  shines  up  to  it 
all  the  money  he  wants  and  throws  in  a 
heap  of  fun  and  satisfaction  for  good 
measure. 

A  broad-gauged  merchant  is  a  good 
deal  like  our  friend  Doc  Graver,  who'd 
cut  out  the  washerwoman's  appendix  for 
five  dollars,  but  would  charge  a  thousand 
for  showing  me  mine — he  wants  all  the 
money  that's  coming  to  him,  but  he 
really  doesn't  give  a  cuss  how  much  it  is, 
just  so  he  gets  the  appendix. 
10 


LETTERS  TO  HIS   SON 

I've  never  taken  any  special  stock  in 
this  modern  theory  that  no  fellow  over 
forty  should  be  given  a  job,  or  no  man 
over  sixty  allowed  to  keep  one.  Of 
course,  there's  a  dead-line  in  business, 
just  as  there  is  in  preaching,  and  fifty's 
a  good,  convenient  age  at  which  to  draw 
it;  but  it's  been  my  experience  that  there 
are  a  lot  of  dead  ones  on  both  sides  of  it. 
When  a  man  starts  out  to  be  a  fool,  and 
keeps  on  working  steady  at  his  trade,  he 
usualh^  isn't  going  to  be  any  Solomon  at 
sixty.  But  just  because  you  see  a  lot  of 
bald-headed  sinners  lined  up  in  the  front 
row  at  the  show,  you  don't  want  to  get 
humorous  with  every  bald-headed  man 
you  meet,  because  the  first  one  you  tackle 
may  be  a  deacon.  And  because  a  fellow 
has  failed  once  or  twice,  or  a  dozen 
times,  you  don't  want  to  set  him  down 
as  a  failure — unless  he  takes  failing  too 
easy.  No  man's  a  failure  till  he's  dead 
or  loses  his  courage,  and  that's  the  same 
thing.  Sometimes  a  fellow  that's  been 
ii 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

batted  all  over  the  ring  for  nineteen 
rounds  lands  on  the  solar  plexus  of  the 
proposition  he's  tackling  in  the  twentieth. 
But  you  can  have  a  regiment  of  good 
business  qualities,  and  still  fail  without 
courage,  because  he's  the  colonel,  and  he 
won't  stand  for  any  weakening  at  a 
critical  time. 

I  learned  a  long  while  ago  not  to  meas- 
ure men  with  a  foot-rule,  and  not  to  hire 
them  because  they  were  young  or  old, 
or  pretty  or  homely,  though  there  are 
certain  general  rules  you  want  to  keep 
in  mind.  If  you  were  spending  a  million 
a  year  without  making  money,  and  you 
hired  a  young  man,  he'd  be  apt  to  turn 
in  and  double  your  expenses  to  make  the 
business  show  a  profit,  and  he'd  be  a 
mighty  good  man ;  but  if  you  hired  an 
old  man,  he'd  probably  cut  your  ex- 
penses to  the  bone  and  show  up  the 
money  saved  on  the  profit  side;  and 
he'd  be  a  mighty  good  man,  too.  I 
hire  both  and  then  set  the  young  man 
12 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

to  spending  and  the  old  man  to  watching 
expenses. 

Of  course,  the  chances  are  that  a  man 
who  hasn't  got  a  good  start  at  forty 
hasn't  got  it  in  him,  but  you  can't  run  a 
business  on  the  law  of  averages  and  have 
more  than  an  average  business.  Once 
an  old  fellow  who's  just  missed  every- 
thing he's  sprung  at  gets  his  hooks  in, 
he's  a  tiger  to  stay  by  the  meat  course. 
And  I've  picked  up  two  or  three  of  these 
old  man-eaters  in  my  time  who  are 
drawing  pretty  large  salaries  with  the 
house  right  now. 

Whenever  I  hear  any  of  this  talk  about 
carting  off  old  fellows  to  the  glue  factory, 
I  always  think  of  Doc  Hoover  and  the 
time  they  tried  the  "  dead-line-at-fifty " 
racket  on  him,  though  he  was  something 
over  eighty  when  it  happened. 

After  I  left  Missouri,  Doc  stayed  right 
along,  year  after  year,  in  the  old  town, 
handing  out  hell  to  the  sinners  in  public, 
on  Sundays,  and  distributing  corn-meal 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

and  side-meat  to  them  on  the  quiet,  week- 
days. He  was  a  boss  shepherd,  you  bet, 
and  he  didn't  stand  for  any  church  rows 
or  such  like  nonsense  among  his  sheep. 
When  one  of  them  got  into  trouble  the 
Doc  was  always  on  hand  with  his  crook 
to  pull  him  out,  but  let  an  old  ram  try 
to  start  any  stampede-and-follow-the- 
leader-over-the-precipice  foolishness,  and 
he  got  the  sharp  end  of  the  stick. 

There  was  one  old  billy-goat  in  the 
church,  a  grocer  named  Deacon  Wiggle- 
ford,  who  didn't  really  like  the  Elder's 
way  of  preaching.  Wanted  him  to  soak 
the  Amalekites  in  his  sermons,  and  to 
leave  the  grocery  business  alone.  Would 
holler  Amen !  when  the  parson  got  after 
the  money-changers  in  the  Temple,  but 
would  shut  up  and  look  sour  when  he 
took  a  crack  at  the  short- weight  prune- 
sellers  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Said 
he  "went  to  church  to  hear  the  simple 
Gospel  preached,"  and  that  may  have 
been  one  of  the  reasons,  but  he  didn't 
14 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

want  it  applied,  because  there  wasn't  any 
place  where  the  Doc  could  lay  it  on  with- 
out cutting  him  on  the  raw.  The  real 
trouble  with  the  Deacon  was  that  he'd 
never  really  got  grace,  but  only  a  pretty 
fair  imitation. 

Well,  one  time  after  the  Deacon  got 
back  from  his  fall  trip  North  to  buy  goods, 
he  tried  to  worry  the  Doc  by  telling  him 
that  all  the  ministers  in  Chicago  were 
preaching  that  there  wasn't  any  super- 
heated hereafter,  but  that  each  man  lived 
through  his  share  of  hell  right  here  on 
earth.  Doc's  face  fell  at  first,  but  he 
cheered  up  mightily  after  nosing  it  over 
for  a  moment,  and  allowed  it  might  be 
so;  in  fact,  that  he  was  sure  it  was  so, 
as  far  as  those  fellows  were  concerned — 
they  lived  in  Chicago.  And  next  Sun- 
day he  preached  hell  so  hot  that  the 
audience  fairly  sweat. 

He  wound  up  his  sermon  by  deploring 
the  tendency  to  atheism  which  he  had 
noticed  "among  those  merchants  who 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

had  recently  gone  tip  with  the  caravans 
to  Babylon  for  spices"  (this  was  just 
his  high-toned  way  of  describing  Deacon 
Wiggleford's  trip  to  Chicago  in  a  day- 
coach  for  groceries),  and  hoped  that  the 
goods  which  they  had  brought  back  were 
better  than  the  theology.  Of  course,  the 
old  folks  on  the  mourners'  bench  looked 
around  to  see  how  the  Deacon  wras  taking 
it,  and  the  youngsters  back  on  the  gig- 
glers'  bench  tittered,  and  everybody  was 
happy  but  the  Deacon.  He  began  laying 
for  the  Doc  right  there.  And  without 
meaning  to,  it  seems  that  I  helped  his 
little  game  along. 

Doc  Hoover  used  to  write  me  every 
now  and  then,  allowing  that  hams  were 
scarcer  in  Missouri  and  more  plentiful  in 
my  packing-house  than  they  had  any 
right  to  be,  if  the  balance  of  trade  was 
to  be  maintained.  Said  he  had  the 
demand  and  I  had  the  supply,  and  he 
wanted  to  know  what  I  was  going  to  do 
about  it.  I  always  shipped  back  a  tierce 
16 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

by  fast  freight,  because  I  was  afraid  that 
if  I  tried  to  argue  the  point  he'd  come 
himself  and  take  a  car-load.  He  made  a 
specialty  of  seeing  that  every  one  in 
town  had  enough  food  and  enough  re- 
ligion, and  he  wasn't  to  be  trifled  with 
when  he  discovered  a  shortage  of  either. 
A  mighty  good]  salesman  was  lost  when 
Doc  got  religion. 

Well,  one  day  something  more  than  ten 
years  ago  he  wrote  in,  threatening  to 
make  the  usual  raid  on  my  smoke-house, 
and  when  I  answered,  advising  him  that 
the  goods  were  shipped,  I  inclosed  a  little 
check  and  told  him  to  spend  it  on  a  trip* 
to  the  Holy  Land  which  I'd  seen  adver- 
tised. He  backed  and  filled  over  going 
at  first,  but  finally  the  church  took  it  out 
of  his  hands  and  arranged  for  a  young 
fellow  not  long  out  of  the  Theological 
Seminary  to  fill  the  pulpit,  and  Doc  put 
a  couple  of  extra  shirts  in  a  grip  and 
started  off.  I  heard  the  rest  of  the  story 
from  Si  Perkins  next  fall,  when  he  brought. 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

on  a  couple  of  car-loads  of  steers  to  Chica- 
go, and  tried  to  stick  me  half  a  cent  more 
than  the  market  for  them  on  the  strength 
of  our  having  come  from  the  same  town. 
It  seems  that  the  young  man  who  took 
Doc's  place  was  one  of  these  fellows  with 
pink  tea  instead  of  red  blood  in  his  veins. 
Hadn't  any  opinions  except  your  opinions 
until  he  met  some  one  else.  Preached 
pretty,  fluffy  little  things,  and  used  eau 
de  Cologne  on  his  language.  Never  hit 
any  nearer  home  than  the  unspeakable 
Turk,  and  then  he  was  scared  to  death 
till  he  found  out  that  the  dark-skinned 
fellow  under  the  gallery  was  an  Armenian. 
(The  Armenian  left  the  church  anyway, 
because  the  unspeakable  Turk  hadn't 
been  soaked  hard  enough  to  suit  him.) 
Didn't  preach  much  from  the  Bible,  but 
talked  on  the  cussedness  of  Robert 
Elsmere  and  the  low-downness  of  Trilby. 
Was  always  wanting  everybody  to  lead 
the  higher  life,  without  ever  really  letting 
on  what  it  was,  or  at  least  so  any  one 
18 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

could  lay  hold  of  it  by  the  tail.  In  the 
end,  I  reckon  he'd  have  worked  around 
to  Hoyle's  games — just  to  call  attention 
to  their  wickedness,  of  course. 

The  Pillars  of  the  church,  who'd  been 
used  to  getting  their  religion  raw  from  Doc 
Hoover,  didn't  take  to  the  bottle  kindly, 
and  they  all  fell  away  except  Deacon 
Wiggleford.  He  and  the  youngsters 
seemed  to  cotton  to  the  new  man,  and 
just  before  Doc  Hoover  was  due  to  get 
back  they  called  a  special  meeting,  and 
retired  the  old  man  with  the  title  of 
pastor  emeritus.  They  voted  him  two 
donation  parties  a  year  as  long  as  he 
lived,  and  elected  the  Higher  Lifer  as  the 
permanent  pastor  of  the  church.  Deacon 
Wiggleford  suggested  the  pastor  emeritus 
extra.  He  didn't  quite  know  what  it 
meant,  but  he'd  heard  it  in  Chicago,  and 
it  sounded  pretty  good,  and  as  if  it  ought 
to  be  a  heap  of  satisfaction  to  a  fellow 
who  was  being  fired.  Besides,  it  didn't 
cost  anything,  and  the  Deacon  was  one 

19 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

of  those  Christians  who  think  that  you 
ought  to  be  able  to  save  a  man's  im- 
mortal soul  for  two  bits. 

The  Pillars  were  mighty  hot  next  day 
when  they  heard  what  had  happened,  and 
were  for  calling  another  special  meeting; 
but  two  or  three  of  them  got  together  and 
decided  that  it  was  best  to  lay  low  and 
avoid  a  row  until  the  Doc  got  back. 

He  struck  town  the  next  week  with  a 
jugful  of  water  from  the  River  Jordan  in 
one  hand  and  a  gripful  of  paper-weights 
made  of  wood  from  the  Mount  of  Olives 
in  the  other.  He  was  chockful  of  the 
joy  of  having  been  away  and  of  the 
happiness  of  getting  back,  till  they  told 
him  about  the  Deacon's  goings  on,  and 
then  he  went  sort  of  gray  and  old,  and  sat 
for  a  minute  all  humped  up. 

Si  Perkins,  who  was  one  of  the  unre- 
generate,  but  a  mighty  good  friend  of 
the  Doc's,  was  standing  by,  and  he 
blurted  right  out:  "  You  say  the  word, 
Doc,  and  we'll  make  the  young  people's 

20 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

society    ride    this    rooster  out  of    town 
on  a  rail." 

That  seemed  to  wake  up  the  Elder  a 
bit,  for  he  shook  his  head  and  said, 
"  No  nonsense  now,  you  Si " ;  and  then, 
as  he  thought  it  over,  he  began  to  bristle 
and  swell  up;  and  when  he  stood  it  was 
to  his  full  six  feet  four,  and  it  was  all 
man.  You  could  see  that  he  was  boss 
of  himself  again,  and  when  a  man  like 
old  Doc  Hoover  is  boss  of  himself  he 
comes  pretty  near  being  boss  of  every 
one  around  him.  He  sent  word  to  the 
Higher  Lifer  by  one  of  the  Pillars  that 
he  reckoned  he  was  counting  on  him  to 
preach  a  farewell  sermon  the  next  Sun- 
day, and  the  young  man,  who'd  been 
keeping  in  the  background  till  what- 
ever was  going  to  drop,  dropped,  came 
around  to  welcome  him  in  person.  But 
while  the  Doc  had  been  doing  a  heap  of 
praying  for  grace,  he  didn't  propose  to 
take  any  chances,  and  he  didn't  see  him. 
And  he  wouldn't  talk  to  any  one  else, 

21 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

just  smiled  in  an  aggravating  way,  though 
everybody  except  Deacon  Wiggleford 
and  the  few  youngsters  who'd  made  the 
trouble  called  to  remonstrate  against  his 
paying  any  attention  to  their  foolishness. 

The  whole  town  turned  out  the  next 
Sunday  to  see  the  Doc  step  down.  He  sat 
beside  the  Higher  Lifer  on  the  platform, 
and  behind  them  were  the  six  deacons. 
When  it  came  time  to  begin  the  services 
the  Higher  Lifer  started  to  get  up,  but 
the  Doc  was  already  on  his  feet,  and 
he  whispered  to  him: 

"  Set  down,  young  man " ;  and  the 
young  man  sat.  The  Doc  had  a  way  of 
talking  that  didn't  need  a  gun  to  back 
it  up. 

The  old  man  conducted  the  services 
right  through,  just  as  he  always  did,  ex- 
cept that  when  he'd  remembered  in  his 
prayer  every  one  in  America  and  had 
worked  around  through  Europe  to  Asia 
Minor,  he  lingered  a  trifle  longer  over  the 
Turks  than  usual,  and  the  list  of  things 
22 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

which  he  seemed  to  think  they  needed 
brought  the  Armenian  back  into  the  fold 
right  then  and  there. 

By  the  time  the  Doc  got  around  to 
preaching,  Deacon  Wiggleford  was  look- 
ing like  a  fellow  who'd  bought  a  gold 
brick,  and  the  Higher  Lifer  like  the  brick. 
Everybody  else  felt  and  looked  as  if  they 
were  attending  the  Doc's  funeral,  and,  as 
usual,  the  only  really  calm  and  composed 
member  of  the  party  was  the  corpse. 

"  You  will  find  the  words  of  my  text," 
Doc  began,  "  in  the  revised  version  of  the 
works  of  William  Shakespeare,  in  the 
book — I  mean  play — of  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
Act  Two,  Scene  Two :  '  Parting  is  such 
sweet  sorrow  that  I  shall  say  good-night 
till  it  be  morrow, ' ' '  and  while  the  audience 
was  pulling  itself  together  he  laid  out  that 
text  in  four  heads,  each  with  six  subheads. 
Began  on  partings,  and  went  on  a  still 
hunt  through  history  and  religion  for 
them.  Made  the  audience  part  with 
Julius  Caesar  with  regret,  and  had  'em 

23 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

sniffling  at  saying  good-by  to  Napoleon 
and  Jeff  Davis.  Made  'em  feel  that  they'd 
lost  their  friends  and  their  money,  and 
then  foreclosed  the  mortgage  on  the  old 
homestead  in  a  this-is-very-sad-but-I- 
need-the-money  tone.  In  fact,  when  he 
had  finished  with  Parting  and  was  ready 
to  begin  on  Sweet  Sorrow,  he  had  not  only 
exhausted  the  subject,  but  left  consider- 
able of  a  deficit  in  it. 

They  say  that  the  hour  he  spent  on 
Sweet  Sorrow  laid  over  anything  that  the 
town  had  ever  seen  for  sadness.  Put 
'em  through  every  stage  of  grief  from  the 
snuffles  to  the  snorts.  Doc  always  was  a 
pretty  noisy  preacher,  but  he  began  work 
on  that  head  with  soft-pedal-tremolo- 
stop  preaching  and  wound  up  with  a 
peroration  like  a  steamboat  explosion. 
Started  with  his  illustrations  dying  of 
consumption  and  other  peaceful  diseases, 
and  finished  up  with  railroad  wrecks. 
He'd  been  at  it  two  hours  when  he  got 
through  burying  the  victims  of  his  last 
24 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

illustration,  and  he  was  just  ready  to 
tackle  his  third  head  with  six  subheads. 
But  before  he  took  the  plunge  he  looked 
at  his  watch  and  glanced  up  sort  of  sur- 
prised : 

"I  find,"  he  said,  "  that  we  have  con- 
sumed more  time  with  these  introductory 
remarks  than  I  had  intended.  We  would 
all,  I  know,  like  to  say  good-by  till  to- 
morrow, did  our  dear  young  brother's 
plans  permit,  but  alas !  he  leaves  us  on 
the  2:17.  Such  is  life;  to-day  we  are 
here,  to-morrow  we  are  in  St.  Louis,  to 
which  our  young  friend  must  return. 
Usually,  I  don't  approve  of  traveling  on 
the  Sabbath,  but  in  a  case  like  this,  where 
the  reasons  are  very  pressing,  I  will  lay 
aside  my  scruples,  and  with  a  com- 
mittee of  deacons  which  I  have  appointed 
see  our  pastor  emeritus  safely  off." 

The  Doc  then  announced  that  he  would 
preach  a  series  of  six  Sunday  night  ser- 
mons on  the  six  best-selling  books  of  the 
month,  and  pronounced  the  benediction 

25 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

while  the  Higher  Lifer  and  Deacon 
Wiggleford  were  trying  to  get  the  floor. 
But  the  committee  of  deacons  had  'em 
by  the  coat-tails,  and  after  listening  to 
their  soothing  arguments  the  Higher 
Lifer  decided  to  take  the  2:17  as  per 
schedule.  When  he  saw  the  whole  con- 
gregation crowding  round  the  Doc,  and 
the  women  crying  over  him  and  wanting 
to  take  him  home  to  dinner,  he  under- 
stood that  there'd  been  a  mistake  some- 
where and  that  he  was  the  mistake. 

Of  course  the  Doc  never  really  preached 
on  the  six  best  -  selling  books.  That 
was  the  first  and  last  time  he  ever  found 
a  text  in  anything  but  the  Bible.  Si 
Perkins  wanted  to  have  Deacon  Wiggle- 
ford  before  the  church  on  charges.  Said 
he'd  been  told  that  this  pastor  emeritus 
business  was  Latin,  and  it  smelt  of  popery 
to  him;  but  the  Doc  wouldn't  stand  for 
any  foolishness.  Allowed  that  the  special 
meeting  was  illegal,  and  that  settled 
it;  and  he  reckoned  they  could  leave 

20 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

the  Deacon's  case  to  the  Lord.  But 
just  the  same,  the  small  boys  used 
to  worry  Wiggleford  considerably  by 
going  into  his  store  and  yelling:  "  Mother 
says  she  doesn't  want  any  more  of  those 
pastor  emeritus  eggs,"  or,  "  She'll  send  it 
back  if  you  give  us  any  more  of  that 
dead-line  butter." 

If  the  Doc  had  laid  down  that  Sunday, 
there'd  probably  have  been  a  whole  lot  of 
talk  and  tears  over  his  leaving,  but  in  the 
end,  the  Higher  Lifer  or  some  other  fellow 
would  have  had  his  job,  and  he'd  have 
become  one  of  those  nice  old  men  for 
whom  every  one  has  a  lot  of  respect  but 
no  special  use.  But  he  kept  right  on, 
owning  his  pulpit  and  preaching  in  it, 
until  the  Great  Call  was  extended  to  him. 

I'm  a  good  deal  like  the  Doc — willing 
to  preach  a  farewell  sermon  whenever  it 
seems  really  necessary,  but  some  other 
fellow's. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 
27 


No.  2 


FROM  John  Graham, 
at  the  Schweitzerka- 
senhof,  Carlsbad,  to 
his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  the 
Union  Stock  Yards,  Chi- 
cago. The  head  of  the  lard 
department  has  died  sud- 
denly, and  Pierrepont  has 
suggested  to  the  old  man 
that  there  is  a  silver  lining 
to  that  cloud  of  sorrow. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

II 

CARLSBAD,  October  20,  189-. 
Dear  Pierrepont:  I've  cabled  the  house 
that  you  will  manage  the  lard  depart- 
ment, or  try  to,  until  I  get  back;  but 
beyond  that  I  can't  see.  Four  weeks 
doesn't  give  you  much  time  to  prove  that 
you  are  the  best  man  in  the  shop  for  the 
place,  but  it  gives  you  enough  to  prove 
that  you  ain't.  You've  got  plenty  of 
rope.  If  you  know  how  to  use  it  you  can 
throw  your  steer  and  brand  it;  if  you 
don't,  I  suppose  I  won't  find  much  more 
than  a  grease-spot  where  the  lard  de- 
partment was,  when  I  get  back  to  the 
office.  I'm  hopeful,  but  I'm  a  dood  deal 
like  the  old  deacon  back  in  Missouri  who 
thought  that  games  of  chance  were  sinful, 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

and  so  only  bet  on  sure  things — and  I'm 
not  betting. 

Naturally,  when  a  young  fellow  steps 
up  into  a  big  position,  it  breeds  jealousy 
among  those  whom  he's  left  behind  and 
uneasiness  among  those  to  whom  he's 
pulled  himself  up.  Between  them  he's 
likely  to  be  subjected  to  a  lot  of  petty 
annoyances.  But  he's  in  the  fix  of  a  dog 
with  fleas  who's  chasing  a  rabbit — if  he 
stops  to  snap  at  the  tickling  on  his  tail, 
he's  going  to  lose  his  game  dinner. 

Even  as  temporary  head  of  the  lard 
department  you're  something  of  a  pup, 
and  where  there's  dog  there's  fleas. 
You've  simply  got  to  get  used  to  them, 
and  have  sense  enough  to  know  that 
they're  not  eating  you  up  when  they're 
only  nibbling  a  little  at  your  hide.  And 
you  don't  want  to  let  any  one  see  that  a 
flea-bite  can  worry  you,  either.  A  pup 
that's  squirming  and  wriggling  and 
nosing  around  the  seat  of  the  trouble 
whenever  one  of  his  little  friends  gets 
32 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

busy,  is  kicked  out  into  the  cold,  sad 
night  in  the  end.  But  a  wise  dog  lies 
before  the  fire  with  a  droop  in  his  ear  and 
a  dreamy  look  in  his  eyes  until  it  gets 
to  the  point  where  he  can't  stand  'em  any 
longer.  Then  he  sneaks  off  under  the 
dining-room  table  and  rolls  them  out 
into  the  carpet. 

There  are  two  breeds  of  little  things  in 
business — those  that  you  can't  afford  to 
miss  and  those  that  you  can't  afford  to 
notice.  The  first  are  the  details  of  your 
own  work  and  those  of  the  men  under 
you.  The  second  are  the  little  tricks 
and  traps  that  the  envious  set  around 
you.  A  trick  is  always  so  low  that  a 
high-stepper  can  walk  right  over  it. 

When  a  fellow  comes  from  the  outside 
to  an  important  position  with  a  house 
he  generally  gets  a  breathing-space  while 
the  old  men  spar  around  taking  his 
measure  and  seeing  if  he  sizes  up  to  his 
job.  They  give  him  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt,  and  if  he  shows  up  strong 
33 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

and  shifty  on  his  feet  they're  apt  to  let 
him  alone.  But  there  isn't  any  doubt 
in  your  case;  everybody's  got  you  sized 
up,  or  thinks  he  has,  and  those  who've 
been  over  you  will  find  it  hard  to  accept 
you  as  an  equal,  and  those  who've  been 
your  equals  will  be  slow  to  regard  you 
as  a  superior.  When  you've  been  Bill  to 
a  man,  it  comes  awkward  for  him  to  call 
you  mister.  He  may  do  it  to  your  face, 
but  you're  always  Bill  again  when  you've 
turned  the  corner. 

Of  course,  everybody's  going  to  say 
you're  an  accident.  Prove  it.  Show 
that  you're  a  regular  head-on  collision 
when  anything  gets  in  your  way.  They're 
going  to  say  that  you've  got  a  pull. 
Prove  it  —  by  taking  up  all  the  slack 
that  they  give  you.  Back  away  from 
controversy,  but  stand  up  stubborn  as  a 
mule  to  the  fellow  who's  hunting  trouble. 
I  believe  in  ruling  by  love,  all  right,  but 
it's  been  my  experience  that  there  are  a 
lot  of  people  in  the  world  whom  you've 
34 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

got  to  make  understand  that  you're 
ready  to  heave  a  brick  if  they  don't  come 
when  you  call  them.  These  men  mistake 
kindness  for  weakness  and  courtesy  for 
cowardice.  Of  course,  it's  the  exception 
when  a  fellow  of  this  breed  can  really 
hurt  you,  but  the  exception  is  the 
thing  that  you  always  want  to  keep  your 
eye  skinned  for  in  business.  When  it's 
good  growing  weather  and  the  average 
of  the  crop  is  ninety-five,  you  should 
remember  that  old  Satan  may  be  down  in 
Arizona  cooking  up  a  sizzler  for  the  corn- 
belt;  or  that  off  Cuba- ways,  where  things 
get  excited  easy,  something  special  in 
the  line  of  tornadoes  may  be  ghost- 
dancing  and  making  ready  to  come 
North  to  bust  you  into  bits,  if  it  catches 
you  too  far  away  from  the  cyclone  cellar. 
When  a  boy's  face  shines  with  soap,  look 
behind  his  ears. 

Up  to  this  point  you've  been  seeing 
business  from  the  seat  of  the  man  who 
takes  orders;  now  you're  going  to  find 
35 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

out  what  sort  of  a  snap  the  fellow  who 
gives  them  has.  You're  not  even  ex- 
changing one  set  of  worries  for  another, 
because  a  good  boss  has  to  carry  all  his 
own  and  to  share  those  of  his  men.  He 
must  see  without  spying;  he  must  hear 
without  sneaking;  he  must  know  without 
asking.  It  takes  a  pretty  good  guesser 
to  be  a  boss. 

The  first  banana-skin  which  a  lot  of 
fellows  step  on  when  they're  put  over 
other  men  is  a  desire  to  be  too  popular. 
Of  course,  it's  a  nice  thing  to  have  every- 
one stand  up  and  cheer  when  your  name 
is  mentioned,  but  it's  mighty  seldom  that 
that  happens  to  any  one  till  he's  dead. 
You  can  buy  a  certain  sort  of  popularity 
anywhere  with  soft  soap  and  favors ;  but 
you  can't  buy  respect  with  anything  but 
justice,  and  that's  the  only  popularity 
worth  having. 

You'll    find    that    this    world    is    so 

small,  and  that  most  men  in  it  think 

they're  so  big,  that  you  can't  step  out 

36 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

in  any  direction  without  treading  on 
somebody's  corns,  but  unless  you  keep 
moving,  the  fellow  who's  in  a  hurry  to  get 
somewhere  is  going  to  fetch  up  on  your 
bunion.  Some  men  are  going  to  dislike 
you  because  you're  smooth,  and  others 
because  you  have  a  brutal  way  of  telling 
the  truth.  You're  going  to  repel  some 
because  they  think  you're  cold,  and 
others  will  cross  the  street  when  they  see 
you  coming  because  they  think  you  slop 
over.  One  fellow  won't  like  you  because 
you've  got  curly  hair,  and  another  will 
size  you  up  as  a  stiff  because  you're  bald. 
Whatever  line  of  conduct  you  adopt 
you're  bound  to  make  some  enemies,  but 
so  long  as  there's  a  choice,  I  want  you  to 
make  yours  by  being  straightforward  and 
just.  You'll  have  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  every  enemy  you  make  by 
doing  the  square  thing  is  a  rascal  at  heart. 
Don't  fear  too  much  the  enemy  you  make 
by  saying  No,  nor  trust  too  much  the 
friend  you  make  by  saying  Yes. 
37 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

Speaking  of  being  popular  naturally 
calls  to  mind  the  case  of  a  fellow  from  the 
North  named  Binder,  who  moved  to  our 
town  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  allowed  that 
he  was  going  into  the  undertaking  busi- 
ness. Absalom  Magoffin,  who  had  had 
all  the  post-mortem  trade  of  the  town  for 
forty  years,  was  a  queer  old  cuss,  and  he 
had  some  mighty  aggravating  ways. 
Never  wanted  to  talk  anything  but 
business.  Would  buttonhole  you  on  the 
street,  and  allow  that,  while  he  wasn't 
a  doctor,  he  had  had  to  cover  up  a  good 
many  of  the  doctors'  mistakes  in  his 
time,  and  he  didn't  just  like  your  symp- 
toms. Said  your  looks  reminded  him  of 
Bill  Shorter,  who  went  off  sudden  in  the 
fifties,  and  was  buried  by  the  Masons 
with  a  brass  band.  Asked  if  you  remem- 
bered Bill,  and  that  peculiar  pasty  look 
about  his  skin.  Naturally,  this  sort  of 
thing  didn't  make  Ab  any  too  popular, 
and  so  Binder  got  a  pretty  warm  welcome 
-when  he  struck  town. 

38 


Jolly  Old  Binder 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

He  started  right  out  by  saying  that  he 
didn't  see  any  good  reason  why  an  under- 
taker should  act  as  if  he  was  the  next  of 
kin.  Was  always  stopping  people  on  the 
streets  to  tell  them  the  latest,  and  yelling 
out  the  point  in  a  horse-laugh.  Every- 
body allowed  that  jolly  old  Binder  had 
the  right  idea ;  and  that  Magoffin  might  as 
well  shut  up  shop.  Every  one  in  town 
wanted  to  see  him  officiate  at  a  funeral, 
and  there  was  a  lot  of  talk  about  en- 
couraging new  enterprises,  but  it  didn't 
come  to  anything.  No  one  appeared  to 
have  any  public  spirit. 

Seemed  as  if  we'd  never  had  a  healthier 
spring  than  that  one.  Couldn't  fetch 
a  nigger,  even.  The  most  unpopular 
man  in  town,  Miser  Dosher,  came  down 
with  pneumonia  in  December,  and  every 
one  went  around  saying  how  sad  it  was 
that  there  was  no  hope,  and  watching 
for  Binder  to  start  for  the  house.  But 
in  the  end  Dosher  rallied  and  "  went  back 
on  the  town,"  as  Si  Perkins  put  it.  Then 

39 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

the  Hoskins-Bustard  crowds  took  a  crack 
at  each  other  one  court  day,  but  it  was 
mighty  poor  shooting.  Ham  Hoskins 
did  get  a  few  buckshot  in  his  leg,  and 
that  had  to  come  oft',  but  there  were  no 
complications. 

By  this  time  Binder,  though  he  still 
laughed  and  cracked  his  jokes,  was  be- 
ginning to  get  sort  of  discouraged.  But 
Si  Perkins  used  to  go  round  and  cheer 
him  up  by  telling  him  that  it  was  bound 
to  come  his  way  in  the  end,  and  that 
when  it  did  come  it  would  come  with 
a  rush. 

Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  something 
happened — yellow  jack  dropped  in  from 
down  New  Orleans  way,  and  half  the 
people  in  town  had  it  inside  a  week  and 
the  other  half  were  so  blamed  scared  that 
they  thought  they  had  it.  But  through 
it  all  Binder  never  once  lost  his  merry, 
cheery  ways.  Luckily  it  was  a  mild  attack 
and  everybody  got  well;  but  it  made  it 
mighty  easy  for  Doc  Hoover  to  bring 
40 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

sinners  under  conviction  for  a  year  to 
come. 

When  it  was  all  over  Binder  didn't 
have  a  friend  in  town.  Leaked  out  little 
by  little  that  as  soon  as  one  of  the  men 
who'd  been  cheering  for  jolly  old  Binder 
got  yellow  jack,  the  first  thing  he  did  was 
to  make  his  wife  swear  that  she'd  have 
Magoffin  do  the  planting. 

You  see,  that  while  a  man  may  think 
it's  all  foolishness  for  an  undertaker  to  go 
around  solemn  and  sniffling,  he'll  be  a 
little  slow  about  hiring  a  fellow  to 
officiate  at  his  funeral  who's  apt  to  take 
a  sense  of  humor  to  it. 

Si  Perkins  was  the  last  one  to  get  well, 
and  the  first  time  he  was  able  to  walk  as 
far  as  the  store  he  made  a  little  speech. 
Wanted  to  know  if  we  were  going  to  let 
a  Connecticut  Yankee  trifle  with  our 
holiest  emotions.  Thought  he  ought  to 
be  given  a  chance  to  crack  his  blanked 
New  England  jokes  in  Hades.  Allowed 
that  the  big  locust  in  front  of  Binder's 


>LD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

store  made  an  ideal  spot  for  a  jolly 
little  funeral.  Of  course  Si  wasn't 
exactly  consistent  in  this,  but,  as  he 
used  to  say,  it's  the  consistent  men 
who  keep  the  devil  busy,  because  no  one's 
ever  really  consistent  except  in  his  cussed- 
ness.  It's  been  my  experience  that 
consistency  is  simply  a  steel  hoop  around 
a  small  mind — it  keeps  it  from  expanding. 

Well,  Si  hadn't  more  than  finished  be- 
fore the  whole  crowd  was  off  whooping 
down  the  street  toward  Binder's.  As 
soon  as  they  got  in  range  of  the  house 
they  began  shooting  at  the  windows  and 
yelling  for  him  to  come  out  if  he  was  a 
man,  but  it  appeared  that  Binder 
wasn't  a  man — leastways,  he  didn't 
come  out — and  investigation  showed 
that  he  was  streaking  it  back  for  Con- 
necticut. 

I  simply  mention  this  little  incident  as 

an  example  of  the  fact  that  popularity 

is  a  mighty  uncertain  critter  and  a  mighty 

unsafe  one  to  hitch  your  wagon  to.     It'll 

42 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

eat  all  the  oats  you  bring  it,  and  then 
kick  you  as  you're  going  out  of  the  stall. 
It's  happened  pretty  often  in  my  time 
that  I've  seen  a  crowd  pelt  a  man  with 
mud,  go  away,  and,  returning  a  few 
months  or  a  few  years  later,  and  finding 
him  still  in  the  same  place,  throw  bouquets 
at  him.  But  that,  mark  you,  was  be- 
cause first  and  last  he  was  standing  in  the 
right  place. 

It's  been  my  experience  that  there  are 
more  cases  of  hate  at  first  sight  than  of 
love  at  first  sight,  and  that  neither  of 
them  is  of  any  special  consequence.  You 
tend  strictly  to  your  job  of  treating  your 
men  square,  without  slopping  over,  and 
when  you  get  into  trouble  there'll  be  a 
little  bunch  to  line  up  around  you  with 
their  horns  down  to  keep  the  wolves  from 
cutting  you  out  of  the  herd. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 


43 


No.  3 


FROM  John  Graham, 
at  the  Schweitzerka- 
senhof,  Carlsbad,  to 
his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  the 
Union  Stock  Yards,  Chi- 
cago. A  friend  of  the  young 
man  has  just  presented  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  the 
old  man,  and  has  exchanged 
a  large  bunch  of  stories  for 
a  small  roll  of  bills. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

III 

CARLSBAD,  October  24,  189-. 
Dear  Pierrepont:  Yesterday  your  old 
college  friend,  Clarence,  blew  in  from 
Monte  Carlo,  where  he  had  been  spending 
a  few  days  in  the  interests  of  science,  and 
presented  your  letter  of  introduction. 
Said  he  still  couldn't  understand  just  how 
it  happened,  because  he  had  figured  it 
out  by  logarithms  and  trigonometry  and 
differential  calculus  and  a  lot  of  other 
high-priced  studies  that  he'd  taken  away 
from  Harvard,  and  that  it  was  a  cinch  on 
paper.  Was  so  sure  that  he  could  have 
proved  his  theory  right  if  he'd  only  had 
a  little  more  money  that  it  hardly  seemed 
worth  while  to  tell  him  that  the  only 
thing  he  could  really  prove  with  his 
47 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

system  was  old  Professor  Darwin's  theory 
that  men  and  monkeys  began  life  in  the 
same  cage.  It  never  struck  me  before, 
but  I'll  bet  the  Professor  got  that  idea 
while  he  was  talking  with  some  of  his 
students. 

Personally,  I  don't  know  a  great  deal 
about  gambling,  because  all  I  ever  spent 
for  information  on  the  subject  was  $2.75 
— my  fool  horse  broke  in  the  stretch — 
and  that  was  forty  years  ago;  but  first 
and  last  I've  heard  a  lot  of  men  explain 
how  it  happened  that  they  hadn't  made 
a  hog-killing.  Of  course,  there  must  be 
a  winning  end  to  gambling,  but  all  that 
these  men  have  been  able  to  tell  about 
is  the  losing  end.  And  I  gather  from 
their  experiences  that  when  a  fellow  does 
a  little  gambling  on  the  side,  it's  usually 
on  the  wrong  side. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  that  the  race- 
horse, the  faro  tiger,  and  the  poker  kitty 
have  bigger  appetites  than  any  healthy 
critter  has  a  right  to  have;  and  after 
48 


y  L,I 


> 

He  had  figured  out  his  system  by  logarithms 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

you've  fed  a  tapeworm,  there's  mighty 
little  left  for  you.  Following  the  horses 
may  be  pleasant  exercise  at  the  start,  but 
they're  apt  to  lead  you  to  the  door  of  the 
poorhouse  or  the  jail  at  the  finish. 

To  get  back  to  Clarence ;  he  took  about 
an  hour  to  dock  his  cargo  of  hard  luck, 
and  another  to  tell  me  how  strange  it  was 
that  there  was  no  draft  from  his  Lon- 
don bankers  waiting  to  welcome  him. 
Naturally,  I  haven't  lived  for  sixty  years 
among  a  lot  of  fellows  who've  been  trying 
to  drive  a  cold-chisel  between  rne  and 
my  bank  account,  without  being  able  to 
smell  a  touch  coming  a  long  time  before 
it  overtakes  me,  and  Clarence's  inten- 
tions permeated  his  cheery  conversation 
about  as  thoroughly  as  a  fertilizer  factory 
does  a  warm  summer  night.  Of  course, 
he  gave  me  every  opportunity  to  prove 
that  I  was  a  gentleman  and  to  suggest 
delicately  that  I  should  be  glad  if  he 
would  let  me  act  as  his  banker  in  this 
sudden  emergency,  but  as  I  didn't  show 
49 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

any  signs  of  being  a  gentleman  and  a 
banker,  he  was  finally  forced  to  come  out 
and  ask  me  in  coarse  commercial  words 
to  lend  him  a  hundred.  Said  it  hurt  him 
to  have  to  do  it  on  such  short  acquaint- 
ance, but  I  couldn't  see  that  he  was 
suffering  any  real  pain. 

Frankly,  I  shouldn't  have  lent  Clarence 
a  dollar  on  his  looks  or  his  story,  for  they 
both  struck  me  as  doubtful  collateral, 
but  so  long  as  he  had  a  letter  from  you, 
asking  me  to  "  do  anything  in  my  power 
to  oblige  him,  or  to  make  his  stay  in 
Carlsbad  pleasant,"  I  let  him  have  the 
money  on  your  account,  to  which  I  have 
written  the  cashier  to  charge  it.  Of 
course,  I  hope  Clarence  will  pay  you  back, 
but  I  think  you  will  save  bookkeeping 
by  charging  it  off  to  experience.  I've 
usually  found  that  these  quick,  glad 
borrowers  are  slow,  sad  payers.  And 
when  a  fellow  tells  you  that  it  hurts  him 
to  have  to  borrow,  you  can  bet  that  the 
thought  of  having  to  pay  is  going  to  tie 
him  up  into  a  bow-knot  of  pain. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

Right  here  I  want  to  caution  you 
against  giving  away  your  signature  to 
every  Clarence  and  Willie  that  happens 
along.  When  your  name  is  on  a  note  it 
stands  only  for  money,  but  when  it's  on 
a  letter  of  introduction  or  recommenda- 
tion it  stands  for  your  judgment  of  ability 
and  character,  and  you  can't  call  it  in  at 
the  end  of  thirty  days,  either.  Giving 
a  letter  of  introduction  is  simply  lending 
your  name  with  a  man  as  collateral,  and 
if  he's  no  good  you  can't  have  the  satis- 
faction of  redeeming  your  indorsement, 
even;  and  you're  discredited.  The 
first  thing  that  a  young  merchant  must 
learn  is  that  his  brand  must  never  appear 
on  a  note,  or  a  ham,  or  a  man  that  isn't 
good.  I  reckon  that  the  devil  invented 
the  habit  of  indorsing  notes  and  giving 
letters  to  catch  the  fellows  he  couldn't 
reach  with  whisky  and  gambling. 

Of  course,  letters  of  introduction  have 
their  proper  use,  but  about  nine  out  of 
ten  of  them  are  simply  a  license  to  some 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

Clarence  to  waste  an  hour  of  your 
time  and  to  graft  on  you  for  the 
luncheon  and  cigars.  It's  getting  so  that 
a  fellow  who's  almost  a  stranger  to  me 
doesn't  think  anything  of  asking  for  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  one  who's  a  total 
stranger.  You  can't  explain  to  these 
men,  because  when  you  try  to  let  them 
down  easy  by  telling  them  that  you 
haven't  had  any  real  opportunity  to 
know  what  their  special  abilities  are, 
they  always  come  back  with  an,  "  Oh ! 
that's  all  right — just  say  a  word  and 
refer  to  anything  you  like  about  me." 

I  give  them  the  letter  then,  unsealed, 
and  though,  of  course,  they're  not  sup- 
posed to  read  it,  I  have  reason  to  think 
that  they  do,  because  I've  never  heard 
of  one  of  those  letters  being  presented. 
I  use  the  same  form  on  all  of  them,  and 
after  they've  pumped  their  thanks  into 
me  and  rushed  around  the  corner,  they 
find  in  the  envelope:  "This  will  intro- 
duce Mr.  Gallister.  While  I  haven't 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

had  the  pleasure  of  any  extended  ac- 
quaintance with  Mr.  Gallister,  I  like  his 


nerve." 


It's  a  mighty  curious  thing,  but  a  lot 
of  men  who  have  no  claim  on  you,  and 
who  wouldn't  think  of  asking  for  money, 
will  panhandle  both  sides  of  a  street  for 
favors  that  mean  more  than  money. 
Of  course,  it's  the  easy  thing  and  the 
pleasant  thing  not  to  refuse,  and  after  all, 
most  men  think,  it  doesn't  cost  any- 
thing but  a  few  strokes  of  the  pen,  and 
so  they  will  give  a  fellow  that  they 
wouldn't  ordinarily  play  on  their  friends 
as  a  practical  joke,  a  nice  sloppy  letter 
of  introduction  to  them;  or  hand  out  to 
a  man  that  they  wouldn't  give  away  as  a 
booby  prize,  a  letter  of  recommendation 
in  which  they  crack  him  up  as  having 
all  the  qualities  necessary  for  an  Ai 
Sunday-school  superintendent  and  bank 
president. 

Now  that  you  are  a  boss  you  will  find 
that  every  other  man  who  comes  to  your 
53 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

desk  is  going  to  ask  you  for  something; 
in  fact,  the  difference  between  being  a  sub 
and  a  boss  is  largely  a  matter  of  asking 
for  things  and  of  being  asked  for  things. 
But  it's  just  as  one  of  those  poets  said 
— you  can't  afford  to  burn  down  the  glue 
factory  to  stimulate  the  demand  for  glue 
stock,  or  words  to  that  effect. 

Of  course,  I  don't  mean  by  this  that 
I  want  you  to  be  one  of  those  fellows  who 
swell  out  like  a  ready-made  shirt  and 
brag  that  they  "never  borrow  and  never 
lend."  They  always  think  that  this 
shows  that  they  are  sound,  conservative 
business  men,  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
it  simply  stamps  them  as  mighty  mean 
little  cusses.  It's  very  superior,  I  know, 
to  say  that  you  never  borrow,  but  most 
men  have  to  at  one  time  or  another,  and 
then  they  find  that  the  never-borrow- 
never-lend  platform  is  a  mighty  incon- 
venient one  to  be  standing  on.  Be  just 
in  business  and  generous  out  of  it.  A 
fellow's  generosity  needs  a  heap  of  exer- 
54 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

cise  to  keep  it  in  good  condition,  and  the 
hand  that  writes  out  checks  gets  cramped 
easier  than  the  hand  that  takes  them  in. 
You  want  to  keep  them  both  limber. 

While  I  don't  believe  in  giving  with  a 
string  tied  to  every  dollar,  or  doing  up  a 
gift  in  so  many  conditions  that  the  pres- 
ent is  lost  in  the  wrappings,  it's  a  good 
idea  not  to  let  most  people  feel  that 
money  can  be  had  for  the  asking.  If 
you  do,  they're  apt  to  go  into  the  asking 
business  for  a  living.  But  these  million- 
aires who  give  away  a  hundred  thousand 
or  so,  with  the  understanding  that  the 
other  fellow  will  raise  another  hundred 
thousand  or  so,  always  remind  me  of  a 
lot  of  boys  coaxing  a  dog  into  their  yard 
with  a  hunk  of  meat,  so  that  they  can  tie 
a  tin  can  to  his  tail — the  pup  edges  up 
licking  his  chops  at  the  thought  of  the 
provisions  and  hanging  his  tail  at  the 
thought  of  the  hardware.  If  he  gets  the 
meat,  he's  got  to  run  himself  to  death  to 
get  rid  of  the  can. 

55 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

While  we're  on  this  subject  of  favors  I 
want  to  impress  on  you  the  importance 
of  deciding  promptly.  The  man  who 
can  make  up  his  mind  quick,  makes 
up  other  people's  minds  for  them.  De- 
cision is  a  sharp  knife  that  cuts  clear  and 
straight  and  lays  bare  the  fat  and  the 
lean;  indecision,  a  dull  one  that  hacks 
and  tears  and  leaves  ragged  edges  behind 
it.  Say  yes  or  no — seldom  perhaps.  Some 
people  have  such  fertile  imaginations 
that  they  will  take  a  grain  of  hope  and 
grow  a  large  definite  promise  with  bark 
on  it  overnight,  and  later,  when  you  come 
to  pull  that  out  of  their  brains  by  the 
roots,  it  hurts,  and  they  holler. 

When  a  fellow  asks  for  a  job  in  your 
department  there  may  be  reasons  why 
you  hate  to  give  him  a  clear-cut  refusal, 
but  tell  him  frankly  that  you  see  no  pos- 
sibility of  placing  him,  and  while  he  may 
not  like  the  taste  of  the  medicine,  he 
swallows  it  and  it's  down  and  forgotten. 
But  you  say  to  him  that  you're  very 

56 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

sorry  your  department  is  full  just  now, 
but  that  you  think  a  place  will  come 
along  later  and  that  he  shall  have  the 
first  call  on  it,  and  he  goes  away  with  his 
teeth  in  a  job.  You've  simply  post- 
poned your  trouble  for  a  few  weeks  or 
months.  And  trouble  postponed  always 
has  to  be  met  with  accrued  interest. 

Never  string  a  man  along  in  business. 
It  isn't  honest  and  it  isn't  good  policy. 
Either's  a  good  reason,  but  taken  to- 
gether they  head  the  list  of  good  reasons. 

Of  course,  I  don't  mean  that  you  want 
to  go  rampaging  along,  trampling  on 
people's  feelings  and  goring  every  one 
who  sticks  up  a  head  in  your  path.  But 
there's  no  use  shilly-shallying  and  dod- 
dering with  people  who  ask  questions  and 
favors  they  have  no  right  to  ask.  Don't 
hurt  any  one  if  you  can  help  it,  but  if 
you  must,  a  clean,  quick  wound  heals 
soonest. 

When  you  can,  it's  better  to  refuse 
a  request  by  letter.  In  a  letter  you  need 

57 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

say  only  what  you  choose;  in  a  talk  you 
may  have  to  say  more  than  you  want  to 
say. 

With  the  best  system  in  the  world 
you'll  find  it  impossible,  however,  to 
keep  a  good  many  people  who  have  no 
real  business  with  you  from  seeing  you 
and  wasting  your  time,  because  a  broad- 
gauged  merchant  must  be  accessible. 
When  a  man's  office  is  policed  and  every 
one  who  sees  him  has  to  prove  that  he's 
taken  the  third  degree  and  is  able  to  give 
the  grand  hailing  sign,  he's  going  to 
miss  a  whole  lot  of  things  that  it  would 
be  mighty  valuable  for  him  to  know. 
Of  course,  the  man  whose  errand  could 
be  attended  to  by  the  office-boy  is  always 
the  one  who  calls  lotidest  for  the  boss, 
but  with  a  little  tact  you  can  weed  out 
most  of  these  fellows,  and  it's  better  to 
see  ten  bores  than  to  miss  one  buyer. 
A  house  never  gets  so  big  that  it  can 
afford  to  sniff  at  a  hundred-pound  sausage 
order,  or  to  feel  that  any  customer  is  so 
58 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

small  that  it  can  afford  not  to  bother 
with  him.  You've  got  to  open  a  good 
many  oysters  to  find  a  pearl. 

You  should  answer  letters  just  as  you 
answer  men — promptly,  courteously,  and 
decisively.  Of  course,  you  don't  ever 
want  to  go  off  half-cocked  and  bring 
down  a  cow  instead  of  the  buck  you're 
aiming  at,  but  always  remember  that 
game  is  shy  and  that  you  can't  shoot  too 
quick  after  you've  once  got  it  covered. 
When  I  go  into  a  fellow's  office  and  see 
his  desk  buried  in  letters  with  the  dust 
on  them,  I  know  that  there  are  cobwebs 
in  his  head.  Foresight  is  the  quality 
that  makes  a  great  merchant,  but  a  man 
who  has  his  desk  littered  with  yesterday's 
business  has  no  time  to  plan  for  to- 
morrow's. 

The  only  letters  that  can  wait  are  those 
which  provoke  a  hot  answer.  A  good  hot 
letter  is  always  foolish,  and  you  should 
never  write  a  foolish  thing  if  you  can  say 
it  to  the  man  instead,  and  never  say  it 

59 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

if  you  can  forget  it.  The  wisest  man 
may  make  an  ass  of  himself  to-day,  over 
to-day's  provocation,  but  he  won't  to- 
morrow. Before  being  used,  warm  words 
should  be  run  into  the  cooling-room 
until  the  animal  heat  is  out  of  them. 
Of  course,  there's  no  use  in  a  fool's  wait- 
ing, because  there's  no  room  in  a  small 
head  in  which  to  lose  a  grievance. 

Speaking  of  small  heads  naturally  calls 
to  mind  a  gold  brick  named  Solomon 
Saunders  that  I  bought  when  I  was  a 
good  deal  younger  and  hadn't  been 
buncoed  so  often.  I  got  him  with  a  letter 
recommending  him  as  a  sort  of  happy 
combination  of  the  three  wise  men  of  the 
East  and  the  nine  muses,  and  I  got  rid  of 
him  with  one  in  which  I  allowed  that  he 
was  the  whole  dozen. 

I  really  hired  Sol  because  he  reminded 
me  of  some  one  I'd  known  and  liked, 
though  I  couldn't  just  remember  at  the 
time  who  it  was;  but  one  day,  after  he'd 
been  with  me  about  a  week,  it  came  to 
60 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

me  in  a  flash  that  he  was  the  living  image 
of  old  Backer,  a  billy-goat  I'd  set  aheap 
of  store  by  when  I  was  a  boy.  That  was 
a  lesson  to  me  on  the  foolishness  of  getting 
sentimental  in  business.  I  never  think 
of  the  old  homestead  that  echo  doesn't 
answer,  "Give  up!";  or  hear  from  it 
without  getting  a  bill  for  having  been 
born  there. 

Sol  had  started  out  in  life  to  be  a  great 
musician.  Had  raised  the  hair  for  the 
job  and  had  kept  his  finger-nails  cut  just 
right  for  it,  but  somehow,  when  he 
played  "My  Old  Kentucky  Home,"  no- 
body sobbed  softly  in  the  fourth  row. 
You  see,  he  could  play  a  piece  absolutely 
right  and  meet  every  note  just  when  it 
came  due,  but  when  he  got  through  it 
was  all  wrong.  That  was  Sol  in  business, 
too.  He  knew  just  the  right  rule  for 
doing  everything  and  did  it  just  that  way, 
and  yet  everything  he  did  turned  out  to 
be  a  mistake.  Made  it  twice  as  aggravat- 
ing because  you  couldn't  consistently  find 
61 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

fault  with  him.     If  you'd  given  Sol  th< 
job  of  making  over  the  earth  he'd  have 
built  it  out  of  the  latest  text-book  on 
"How  to  Make  the  World  Better,"  and 
have  turned  out  something  as  correct  as 
a  spike-tail  coat — and  every  one  woule 
have  wanted  to  die  to  get  out  of  it. 

Then,  too,  I  never  saw  such  a  cuss  foi 
system.     Other  men  would  forget  cosl 
and  prices,  but  Sol  never  did.     Seem< 
he  ran  his  memory  by  system.     Had 
way  when  there  was  a  change  in  the  pri< 
list  of  taking  it  home  and  setting  it 
poetry.     Used  "Ring  Out,  Wild  Bells,1 
by   A.  Tennyson,  for   a   bull   market- 
I  remember  he  began  it  "  Ring  Off,  Wil( 
Bulls"— and    "Break,    Break,    Break," 
for  a  bear  one. 

It  used  to  annoy  me  considerable  whei 
I  asked  him  the  price  of  pork  tenderloins 
to  have  him  mumble  through  two  or 
three  verses  till  he  fetched  it  up,  but  I 
didn't  have  any  real  kick  coming  till  he 
got  ambitious  and  I  had  to  wait  till  he'd 
62 


Sol  had  started  out  in  life  to  be  a  great  musician.     Had 

raised  the  hair  for  the  job  and  had  kept  his 

finger-nails  cut  just  right  for  it 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

hummed  half  through  a  grand  opera  to  get 
a  quotation  on  pickled  pigs'  feet  in  kits. 
I  felt  that  we  had  reached  the  parting 
of  the  ways  then,  but  I  didn't  like  to 
point  out  his  way  too  abruptly,  because 
the  friend  who  had  unloaded  him  on  us 
was  pretty  important  to  me  in  my  busi- 
ness just  then,  and  he  seemed  to  be  all 
wrapped  up  in  Sol's  making  a  hit  with  us. 
It's  been  my  experience,  though,  that 
sometimes  when  you  can't  kick  a  man 
out  of  the  back  door  without  a  row,  you 
can  get  him  to  walk  out  the  front  way 
voluntarily.  So  when  I  get  stuck  with  a 
fellow  that,  for  some  reason,  it  isn't  de- 
sirable to  fire,  I  generally  promote  him 
and  raise  his  pay.  Some  of  these  weak 
sisters  I  make  the  assistant  boss  of  the 
machine-shop  and  some  of  the  bone- 
meal  mill.  I  didn't  dare  send  Sol  to 
the  machine-shop,  because  I  knew  he 
wouldn't  have  been  there  a  week  before 
he'd  have  had  the  shop  running  on 
Gotterdammerung  or  one  of  those  other 

63 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

cuss-word  operas  of  Wagner's.  But  the 
strong  point  of  a  bone-meal  mill  is  bone- 
dust,  and  the  strong  point  of  bone-dust 
is  smell,  and  the  strong  point  of  its  smell 
is  its  staying  qualities.  Naturally  it's 
the  sort  of  job  for  which  you  want  a 
bald-headed  man,  because  a  fellow  who's 
got  nice  thick  curls  will  cheat  the  house 
by  taking  a  good  deal  of  the  product 
home  with  him.  To  tell  the  truth,  Sol's 
hair  had  been  worrying  me  almost  as 
much  as  his  system.  When  I  hired 
him  I'd  supposed  he'd  finally  molt  it 
along  with  his  musical  tail-feathers.  I 
had  a  little  talk  with  him  then,  in  which 
I  hinted  at  the  value  of  looking  clear-cut 
and  trim  and  of  giving  sixteen  ounces  to 
the  pound,  but  the  only  result  of  it  was 
that  he  went  off  and  bought  a  pot  of 
scented  vaseline  and  grew  another  inch 
of  hair  for  good  measure.  It  seemed  a 
pity  now,  so  long  as  I  was  after  his  scalp, 
not  to  get  it  with  the  hair  on. 

Sol  had  never  seen  a  bone-meal  mill, 
64 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

but  it  flattered  him  mightily  to  be 
promoted  into  the  manufacturing  end, 
"  where  a  fellow  could  get  ahead  faster," 
and  he  said  good-by  to  the  boys  in  the 
office  with  his  nose  in  the  air,  where  he 
kept  it,  I  reckon,  during  the  rest  of  his 
connection  with  the  house. 

If  Sol  had  stuck  it  out  for  a  month  at 
the  mill  I'd  have  known  that  he  had  the 
right  stuff  in  him  somewhere  and  have 
taken  him  back  into  the  office  after  a 
good  rub-down  with  pumice-stone.  But 
he  turned  up  the  second  day,  smelling  of 
violet  soap  and  bone-meal,  and  he  didn't 
sing  his  list  of  grievances,  either.  Start- 
ed right  in  by  telling  me  how,  when  he 
got  into  a  street-car,  all  the  other  pas- 
sengers sort  of  faded  out;  and  how  his 
landlady  insisted  on  serving  his  meals  in 
his  room.  Almost  foamed  at  the  mouth 
when  I  said  the  office  seemed  a  little  close 
and  opened  the  window,  and  he  quoted 
some  poetry  about  that  being  "  the  most 
unkindest  cut  of  all."  Wound  up  by 
65 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

wanting  to  know  how  he  was  going  to  get 
it  out  of  his  hair. 

I  broke  it  to  him  as  gently  as  I  could 
that  it  would  have  to  wear  out  or  be  cut 
out,  and  tried  to  make  him  see  that  it  was 
better  to  be  a  bald-headed  boss  on  a 
large  salary  than  a  curly-headed  clerk 
on  a  small  one;  but,  in  the  end,  he 
resigned,  taking  along  a  letter  from  me 
to  the  friend  who  had  recommended  him 
and  some  of  my  good  bone-meal. 

I  didn't  grudge  him  the  fertilizer,  but 
I  did  feel  sore  that  he  hadn't  left  me  a 
lock  of  his  hair,  till  some  one  saw  him  a 
few  days  later,  dodging  along  with  his 
collar  turned  up  and  his  hat  pulled  down, 
looking  like  a  new-clipped  lamb.  I  heard, 
too,  that  the  fellow  who  had  given  him 
the  wise-men-muses  letter  to  me  was  so 
impressed  with  the  almost  exact  duplicate 
of  it  which  I  gave  Sol,  and  with  the  fact 
that  I  had  promoted  him  so  soon,  that  he 
concluded  he  must  have  let  a  good  man 
get  by  him,  and  hired  him  himself. 
66 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

Sol  was  a  failure  as  a  musician  because, 
while  he  knew  all  the  notes,  he  had  noth- 
ing in  himself  to  add  to  them  when  he 
played  them.  It's  easy  to  learn  all  the 
notes  that  make  good  music  and  all  the 
rules  that  make  good  business,  but  a 
fellow's  got  to  add  the  fine  curves  to 
them  himself  if  he  wants  to  do  anything 
more  than  beat  the  bass- drum  all  his 
life.  Some  men  think  that  rules  should 
be  made  of  cast  iron;  I  believe  that  they 
should  be  made  of  rubber,  so  that  they 
can  be  stretched  to  fit  any  particular  case 
and  then  spring  back  into  shape  again. 
The  really  important  part  of  a  rule  is 
the  exception  to  it. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 

P.  S. — Leave  for  home  to-morrow. 


67 


No.  4 


FROM  John  Graham, 
at  the  Hotel  Cecil, 
London,  to  his  son, 
Pierrepont,  at  the  Union 
Stock  Yards,  Chicago.  The 
old  man  has  just  finished 
going  through  the  young 
man's  first  report  as  man- 
ager of  the  lard  department, 
and  he  finds  it  suspiciously 
good. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO   HIS  SON 

IV 

LONDON,  December  i,  189-. 

Dear  Pierre pont:  Your  first  report 
looks  so  good  that  I'm  a  little  afraid  of  it. 
Figures  don't  lie,  I  know,  but  that's 
only  because  they  can't  talk.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  they're  just  as  truthful  as  the 
man  who's  behind  them. 

It's  been  my  experience  that  there  are 
two  kinds  of  figures — educated  and  un- 
educated ones — and  that  the  first  are  a 
good  deal  like  the  people  who  have  had 
the  advantage  of  a  college  education  on 
the  inside  and  the  disadvantage  of  a 
society  finish  on  the  outside — they're  apt 
to  tell  you  only  the  smooth  and  the  pleas- 
ant things.  Of  course,  it's  mighty  nice 
to  be  told  that  the  shine  of  your  shirt- 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

front  is  blinding  the  floor-manager's  best 
girl;  but  if  there's  a  hole  in  the  seat  of 
your  pants  you  ought  to  know  that,  too, 
because  sooner  or  later  you've  got  to  turn 
your  back  to  the  audience. 

Now  don't  go  off  half-cocked  and 
think  I'm  allowing  that  you  ain't  truth- 
ful; because  I  think  you  are — reasonably 
so — and  I'm  sure  that  everything  you 
say  in  your  report  is  true.  But  is  there 
anything  you  don't  say  in  it? 

A  good  many  men  are  truthful  on  the 
installment  plan — that  is,  they  tell  their 
boss  all  the  good  things  in  sight  about 
their  end  of  the  business  and  then  dribble 
out  the  bad  ones  like  a  fellow  who's 
giving  you  a  list  of  his  debts.  They'll 
yell  for  a  week  that  the  business  of  their 
department  has  increased  ten  per  cent., 
and  then  own  up  in  a  whisper  that  their 
selling  cost  has  increased  twenty.  In 
the  end,  that  always  creates  a  worse  im- 
pression than  if  both  sides  of  the  story 
had  been  told  at  once  or  the  bad  had 
72 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

been  told  first.  It's  like  buying  a  barrel 
of  apples  that's  been  deaconed — after 
you've  found  that  the  deeper  you  go  the 
meaner  and  wormier  the  fruit,  you  forget 
all  about  the  layer  of  big,  rosy,  wax- 
finished  pippins  which  was  on  top. 

I  never  worry  about  the  side  of  a 
proposition  that  I  can  see;  what  I  want 
to  get  a  look  at  is  the  side  that's  out  of 
sight.  The  bugs  always  snuggle  down 
on  the  under  side  of  the  stone. 

The  best  year  we  ever  had — in  our 
minds — was  one  when  the  superintend- 
ent of  the  packing-house  wanted  an 
increase  in  his  salary,  and,  to  make  a  big 
showing,  swelled  up  his  inventory  like  a 
poisoned  pup.  It  took  us  three  months 
to  wake  up  to  what  had  happened,  and 
a  year  to  get  over  feeling  as  if  there  was 
sand  in  our  eyes  when  we  compared  the 
second  showing  with  the  first.  An  opti- 
mist is  as  bad  as  a  drunkard  when  he 
comes  to  figure  up  results  in  business- 
he  sees  double.  I  employ  optimists  to 
73 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

get  results  and  pessimists  to  figure 
them  up. 

After  I've  charged  off  in  my  inventory 
for  wear  and  tear  and  depreciation,  I 
deduct  a  little  more  just  for  luck — bad 
luck.  That's  the  only  sort  of  luck  a 
merchant  can  afford  to  make  a  part  of 
his  calculations. 

The  fellow  who  said  you  can't  make  a 
silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear  wasn't  on  to 
the  packing  business.  You  can  make  the 
purse  and  you  can  fill  it,  too,  from  the 
same  critter.  What  you  can't  do  is  to 
load  up  a  report  with  moonshine  or  an 
inventory  with  wind,  and  get  anything 
more  substantial  than  a  moonlight  sail 
toward  bankruptcy.  The  kittens  of  a 
wildcat  are  wildcats,  and  there's  no  use 
counting  on  their  being  angoras. 

Speaking  of  educated  pigs  naturally 
calls  to  mind  Jake  Solzenheimer  and  the 
lard  that  he  sold  half  a  cent  a  pound 
cheaper  than  any  one  else  in  the  business 
could  make  it.  That  was  a  long  time 
74 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

ago,  when  the  packing  business  was  still 
on  the  bottle,  and  when  the  hogs  that 
came  to  Chicago  got  only  a  common- 
school  education  and  graduated  as  plain 
hams  and  sides  and  lard  and  sausage. 
Literature  hadn't  hit  the  hog  business 
then.  It  was  just  Graham's  hams  or 
Smith's  lard,  and  there  were  no  poetical 
brands  or  high- art  labels. 

Well,  sir,  one  day  I  heard  that  this 
Jake  was  offering  lard  to  the  trade  at  half 
a  cent  under  the  market,  and  that  he'd 
had  the  nerve  to  label  it  "  Driven  Snow 
Leaf."  Told  me,  when  I  ran  up  against 
him  on  the  street,  that  he'd  got  the  name 
from  a  song  which  began,  "  Once  I  was 
pure  as  the  driven  snow."  Said  it  made 
him  feel  all  choky  and  as  if  he  wanted  to 
be  a  better  man,  so  he'd  set  out  to  make 
the  song  famous  in  the  hope  of  its  helping 
others.  Allowed  that  this  was  a  hard 
world,  and  that  it  was  little  enough  we 
could  do  in  our  business  life  to  scatter 
sunshine  along  the  way;  but  he  proposed 

75 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

that  every  can  which  left  his  packing- 
house after  this  should  carry  the  call  to  a 
better  life  into  some  humble  home. 

I  let  him  lug  that  sort  of  stuff  to  the 
trough  till  he  got  tired,  and  then  I  looked 
him  square  in  the  eye  and  went  right  at 
him  with: 

"  Jake,  what  you  been  putting  in  that 
lard?"  because  I  knew  mighty  well  that 
there  was  something  in  it  which  had  never 
walked  on  four  feet  and  fattened  up  on 
fifty-cent  corn  and  then  paid  railroad 
fare  from  the  Missouri  River  to  Chicago. 
There  are  a  good  many  things  I  don't 
know,  but  hogs  ain't  one  of  them. 

Jake  just  grinned  at  me  and  swore  that 
there  was  nothing  in  his  lard  except  the 
pure  juice  of  the  hog;  so  I  quit  fooling 
with  him  and  took  a  can  of  "  Driven 
Snow  "  around  to  our  chemist.  It  looked 
like  lard  and  smelt  like  lard — in  fact,  it 
looked  better  than  real  lard:  too  white 
and  crinkly  and  tempting  on  top.  And 
the  next  day  the  chemist  came  down  to 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

my  office  and  told  me  that "  Driven  Snow  " 
must  have  been  driven  through  a  candle 
factory,  because  it  had  picked  up  about 
twenty  per  cent,  of  paraffin  wax  some- 
where. 

Of  course,  I  saw  now  why  Jake  was 
able  to  undersell  us  all,  but  it  was  mighty 
important  to  knock  out  "  Driven  Snow" 
with  the  trade  in  just  the  right  way, 
because  most  of  our  best  customers  had 
loaded  up  with  it.  So  I  got  the  exact 
formula  from  the  chemist  and  had  about 
a  hundred  sample  cans  made  up,  labeling 
each  one  "Wandering  Boy  Leaf  Lard," 
and  printing  on  the  labels:  "This  lard 
contains  twenty  per  cent,  of  paraffin." 

I  sent  most  of  these  cans,  with  letters 
of  instruction,  to  our  men  through  the 
country.  Then  I  waited  until  it  was 
Jake's  time  to  be  at  the  Live  Stock  Ex- 
change, and  happened  in  with  a  can  of 
"  Wandering  Boy "  under  my  arm.  It 
didn't  take  me  long  to  get  into  conver- 
sation with  Jake,  and  as  we  talked  I 
77 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

swung  that  can  around  until  it  attracted 
his  attention,  and  he  up  and  asked : 

"  What  you  got  there,  Graham  ? " 

"  Oh,  that, "  I  answered,  slipping  the 
can  behind  my  back — "  that's  a  new  lard 
we're  putting  out — something  not  quite 
so  expensive  as  our  regular  brand." 

Jake  stopped  grinning  then  and  gave 
me  a  mighty  sharp  look. 

"  Lemme  have  a  squint  at  it,"  says  he, 
trying  not  to  show  too  keen  an  interest 
in  his  face. 

I  held  back  a  little ;  then  I  said :  "  Well, 
I  don't  just  know  as  I  ought  to  show  you 
this.  We  haven't  regularly  put  it  on 
the  market,  and  this  can  ain't  a  fair 
sample  of  what  we  can  do ;  but  so  long  as 
I  sort  of  got  the  idea  from  you  I  might  as 
well  tell  you.  I'd  been  thinking  over 
what  you  said  about  that  lard  of  yours, 
and  while  they  were  taking  a  collection 
in  church  the  other  day  the  soprano  up 
and  sings  a  mighty  touching  song.  It 
began,  '  Where  is  my  wandering  boy  to- 
78 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

night  ? '  and  by  the  time  she  was  through 
I  was  feeling  so  mushy  and  sobby  that  I 
put  a  five  instead  of  a  one  into  the  plate 
by  mistake.  I've  been  thinking  ever 
since  that  the  attention  of  the  country 
ought  to  be  called  to  that  song,  and  so 
I've  got  up  this  missionary  lard";  and  I 
shoved  the  can  of  " Wandering  Boy" 
under  his  eyes,  giving  him  time  to  read 
the  whole  label. 

"H— 1!"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  I  answered;  " that's  it.  Good 
lard  gone  wrong;  but  it's  going  to  do  a 
great  work." 

Jake's  face  looked  like  the  Lost  Tribes 

—the  whole  bunch  of  'em — as  the  thing 

soaked   in;    and   then   he    ran   his    arm 

through  mine  and  drew  me  off  into  a 

corner.  • 

"  Graham,"  said  he,  "  let's  drop  this 
cussed  foolishness.  You  keep  dark  about 
this  and  we'll  divide  the  lard  trade  of  the 
country." 

I  pretended  not  to  understand  what  he 
79 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

was  driving  at,  but  reached  out  and 
grasped  his  hand  and  wrung  it.  "  Yes, 
yes,  Jake,"  I  said;  "  we'll  stand  shoulder 
to  shoulder  and  make  the  lard  business 
one  grand  sweet  song,"  and  then  I 
choked  him  off  by  calling  another  fellow 
into  the  conversation.  It  hardly  seemed 
worth  while  to  waste  time  telling  Jake 
what  he  was  going  to  find  out  when  he 
got  back  to  his  office — that  there  wasn't 
any  lard  business  to  divide,  because  I  had 
hogged  it  all. 

You  see,  my  salesmen  had  taken  their 
samples  of  "  Wandering  Boy  "  around  to 
the  buyers  and  explained  that  it  was 
made  from  the  same  formula  as  "  Driven 
Snow,"  and  could  be  bought  at  the  same 
price.  They  didn't  sell  any  "Boy,"  of 
course — that  wasn't  the  idea;  but  they 
loaded  up  the  trade  with  our  regular 
brand,  to  take  the  place  of  the  "  Driven 
Snow,"  which  was  shipped  back  to  Jake 
by  the  car-lot. 

Since  then,  when  anything  looks  too 
80 


"That's  it— good  lard  gone  wrong 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

snowy  and  smooth  and  good  at  the  first 
glance,  I  generally  analyze  it  for  paraffin. 
I've  found  that  this  is  a  mighty  big 
world  for  a  square  man  and  a  mighty 
small  world  for  a  crooked  one. 

I  simply  mention  these  things  in  a 
general  way.  I've  confidence  that  you're 
going  to  make  good  as  head  of  the  lard 
department,  and  if,  when  I  get  home,  I 
find  that  your  work  analyzes  seventy-five 
per  cent,  as  pure  as  your  report  I  shall 
be  satisfied.  In  the  meanwhile  I  shall 
instruct  the  cashier  to  let  you  draw  a 
hundred  dollars  a  week,  just  to  show  that  I 
haven't  got  a  case  of  faith  without  works. 
I  reckon  the  extra  twenty-five  per  will 
come  in  mighty  handy  now  that  you're 
within  a  month  of  marrying  Helen. 

I'm  still  learning  how  to  treat  an  old 
wife,  and  so  I  can't  give  you  many 
pointers  about  a  young  one.  For  while 
I've  been  married  as  long  as  I've  been  in 
business,  and  while  I  know  all  the  curves 
of  the  great  American  hog,  your  ma's 
81 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

likely  to  spring  a  new  one  on  me  to- 
morrow. No  man  really  knows  anything 
about  women  except  a  widower,  and  he 
forgets  it  when  he  gets  ready  to  marry 
again.  And  no  woman  really  knows 
anything  about  men  except  a  widow, 
and  she's  got  to  forget  it  before  she's 
willing  to  marry  again.  The  one  thing 
you  can  know  is  that,  as  a  general  propo- 
sition, a  woman  is  a  little  better  than  the 
man  for  whom  she  cares.  For  when  a 
woman's  bad,  there's  always  a  man  at 
the  bottom  of  it;  and  when  a  man's  good, 
there's  always  a  woman  at  the  bottom 
of  that,  too. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  that  while 
marriages  may  be  made  in  heaven,  a 
lot  of  them  are  lived  in  hell  and  end  in 
South  Dakota.  But  when  a  man  has 
picked  out  a  good  woman  he  holds  four 
hearts,  and  he  needn't  be  afraid  to  draw 
cards  if  he's  got  good  nerve.  If  he  hasn't, 
he's  got  no  business  to  be  sitting  in  games 
of  chance.  The  best  woman  in  the  world 
82 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

will  begin  trying  out  a  man  before  she's 
been  married  to  him  twenty-four  hours; 
and  unless  he  can  smile  over  the  top  of  a 
four-flush  and  raise  the  ante,  she's  going 
to  rake  in  the  breeches  and  keep  them. 

The  great  thing  is  to  begin  right. 
Marriage  is  a  close  corporation,  and 
unless  a  fellow  gets  the  controlling 
interest  at  the  start  he  can't  pick  it  up 
later.  The  partner  who  owns  fifty-one 
per  cent,  of  the  stock  in  any  business  is 
the  boss,  even  if  the  other  is  allowed 
to  call  himself  president.  There's  only 
two  jobs  for  a  man  in  his  own  house- 
one's  boss  and  the  other's  office-boy,  and 
a  fellow  naturally  falls  into  the  one  for 
which  he's  fitted. 

Of  course,  when  I  speak  of  a  fellow's 
being  boss  in  his  own  home,  I  simply 
mean  that,  in  a  broad  way,  he's  going  to 
shape  the  policy  of  the  concern.  When  a 
man  goes  sticking  his  nose  into  the  run- 
ning of  the  house,  he's  apt  to  get  it 
tweaked,  and  while  he's  busy  drawing  it 

83 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

back  out  of  danger  he's  going  to  get  his 
leg  pulled,  too.  You  let  your  wife  tend  to 
the  housekeeping  and  you  focus  on  earn- 
ing money  with  which  she  can  keep  house. 
Of  course,  in  one  way,  it's  mighty  nice  of 
a  man  to  help  around  the  place,  but  it's 
been  my  experience  that  the  fellows 
who  tend  to  all  the  small  jobs  at  home 
never  get  anything  else  to  tend  to  at  the 
office.  In  the  end,  it's  usually  cheaper 
to  give  all  your  attention  to  your  busi- 
ness and  to  hire  a  plumber. 

You  don't  want  to  get  it  into  your 
head,  though,  that  because  your  wife 
hasn't  any  office-hours  she  has  a  soft 
thing.  A  lot  of  men  go  around  sticking 
out  their  chests  and  wondering  why  their 
wives  have  so  much  trouble  with  the  help, 
when  they  are  able  to  handle  their  clerks 
so  easy.  If  you  really  want  to  know, 
you  lift  two  of  your  men  out  of  their 
revolving-chairs,  and  hang  one  over 
a  forty-horse-power  cook-stove  that's 
booming  along  under  forced  draft  so  that 
84 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

your  dinner  won't  be  late,  with  a  turkey 
that's  gobbling  for  basting  in  one  oven, 
and  a  cake  that's  gone  back  on  you  in  a 
low,  underhand  way  in  another,  and 
sixteen  different  things  boiling  over  on 
top  and  mixing  up  their  smells.  And 
you  set  the  other  at  a  twelve-hour  stunt 
of  making  all  the  beds  you've  mussed, 
and  washing  all  the  dishes  you've  used, 
and  cleaning  all  the  dust  you've  kicked 
up,  and  you  boss  the  whole  while  the 
baby  yells  with  colic  over  your  arm — you 
just  try  this  with  two  of  your  men  and 
see  how  long  it  is  before  there's  rough- 
house  on  the  Wabash.  Yet  a  lot  of 
fellows  come  home  after  their  wives  have 
had  a  day  of  this  and  blow  around  about 
how  tired  and  overworked  they  are,  and 
wonder  why  home  isn't  happier.  Don't 
you  ever  forget  that  it's  a  blamed  sight 
easier  to  keep  cool  in  front  of  an  electric 
fan  than  a  cook-stove,  and  that  you  can't 
subject  the  best  temper  in  the  world  to 
500  degrees  Fahrenheit  without  warming 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

it  up  a  bit.  And  don't  you  add  to  your 
wife's  troubles  by  saying  how  much 
better  you  could  do  it,  but  stand  pat  and 
thank  the  Lord  you've  got  a  snap. 

I  remember  when  old  Doc  Hoover, 
just  after  his  wife  died,  bought  a  mighty 
competent  nigger,  Aunt  Tempy,  to  cook 
and  look  after  the  house  for  him.  She 
was  the  boss  cook,  you  bet,  and  she  could 
fry  a  chicken  into  a  bird  of  paradise  just 
as  easy  as  the  Doc  could  sizzle  a  sinner 
into  a  pretty  tolerable  Christian. 

The  old  man  took  his  religion  with  the 
bristles  on,  and  he  wouldn't  stand  for 
any  Sunday  work  in  his  house.  Told 
Tempy  to  cook  enough  for  two  days  on 
Saturday  and  to  serve  three  cold  meals 
on  Sunday. 

Tempy  sniffed  a  little,  but  she'd 
been  raised  well  and  didn't  talk  back. 
That  first  Sunday  Doc  got  his  cold  break- 
fast all  right,  but  before  he'd  fairly  laid 
into  it  Tempy  trotted  out  a  cup  of  hot 
coffee.  That  made  the  old  man  rage  at 
86 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

first,  but  finally  he  allowed  that,  seeing 
it  was  made,  there  was  no  special  harm 
in  taking  a  sup  or  two,  but  not  to  let  it 
occur  again.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
called  back  to  Tempy  in  the  kitchen  and 
asked  her  if  she'd  been  sinful  enough  to 
make  two  cups. 

Doc's  dinner  was  ready  for  him  when 
he  got  back  from  church,  and  it  was  real 
food — that  is  to  say,  hot  food,  a-sizzling 
and  a-smoking  from  the  stove.  Tempy 
told  around  afterward  that  the  way  the 
old  man  went  for  her  about  it  made  her 
feel  mighty  proud  and  set-up  over  her 
new  master.  But  she  just  stood  there 
dripping  perspiration  and  good  nature 
until  the  Doc  had  wound  up  by  allowing 
that  there  was  only  one  part  of  the  here- 
after where  meals  were  cooked  on  Sun- 
day, and  that  she'd  surely  get  a  mention 
on  the  bill  of  fare  there  as  dark  meat, 
well  done,  if  she  didn't  repent,  and  then 
she  blurted  out: 

"  Law,  chile,  you  go  'long  and  'tend  to 

87 


OLD   GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

yo'  preachin',  and  I'll  'tend  to  my  cook- 
iii' ;  yo'  can't  fight  the  debbil  with  snow- 
balls." And  what's  more,  the  Doc 
didn't,  not  while  Aunt  Tempy  was  living. 
There  isn't  any  moral  to  this,  but 
there's  a  hint  in  it  to  mind  your  own 
business  at  home  as  well  as  at  the  office. 
I  sail  to-morrow.  I'm  feeling  in  mighty 
good  spirits,  and  I  hope  I'm  not  going 
to  find  anything  at  your  end  of  the  line 
to  give  me  a  relapse. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 


Allowed  that  there  was  just  one  part  of  the  hereafter 
where  meals  were  cooked  on  Sunday 


No.  5 


FROM  John  Graham,  at 
the  Waldorf-Astoria, 
New  York,  to  his  son, 
Pierrepont,  at  the  Union 
Stock  Yards,  Chicago.  The 
young  man  has  hinted 
vaguely  of  a  quarrel  between 
himself  and  Helen  Heath, 
who  is  in  New  York  with 
her  mother,  and  has  sug- 
gested that  the  old  man  act 
as  peacemaker. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

v 

NEW  YORK,  Decembers,  189-. 
Dear  Pierre pont:  I've  been  afraid  all 
along  that  you  were  going  to  spoil  the 
only  really  sensible  thing  you've  ever 
done  by  making  some  fool  break,  so  as 
soon  as  I  got  your  letter  I  started  right 
out  to  trail  down  Helen  and  her  ma.  I 
found  them  hived  up  here  in  the  hotel, 
and  Miss  Helen  was  so  sweet  to  your 
poor  old  pa  that  I  saw  right  off  she  had 
a  stick  cut  for  his  son.  Of  course,  I 
didn't  let  on  that  I  knew  anything  about 
a  quarrel,  but  I  gradually  steered  the 
conversation  around  to  you,  and  while 
I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  I  am 
violating  no  confidence  when  I  tell  you 
that  the  mention  of  your  name  aroused 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

about  the  same  sort  of  enthusiasm  that 
Bill  Bryan's  does  in  Wall  Street — only 
Helen  is  a  lady  and  so  she  couldn't  cuss. 
But  it  wasn't  the  language  of  flowers  that 
I  saw  in  her  eyes.  So  I  told  her  that 
she  must  make  allowances  for  you, 
as  you  were  only  a  half-baked  boy,  and 
that,  naturally,  if  she  stuck  a  hat-pin 
into  your  crust  she  was  going  to  strike 
a  raw  streak  here  and  there. 

She  sat  up  a  little  at  that,  and  started 
in  to  tell  me  that  while  you  had  said 
"some  very,  very  cruel,  cruel  things  to 
her,  still—  But  I  cut  her  short  by 

allowing  that,  sorry  as  I  was  to  ow^n  it,  I 
was  afraid  you  had  a  streak  of  the  brute 
in  you,  and  I  only  hoped  that  you 
wouldn't  take  it  out  on  her  after  you 
were  married. 

Well,  sir,  the  way  she  flared  up,  I 
thought  that  all  the  Fourth  of  July  fire- 
works had  gone  off  at  once.  The  air  was 
full  of  trouble — trouble  in  set  pieces  and 
bombs  and  sizzy  rockets  and  sixteen- 
92 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

ball  Roman  candles,  and  all  pointed  right 
at  me.  Then  it  came  on  to  rain  in  the 
usual  way,  and  she  began  to  assure  me 
between  showers  that  you  were  so  kind 
and  gentle  that  it  hurt  you  to  work,  or  to 
work  at  my  horrid  pig- sticking  business, 
I  forget  which,  and  I  begged  her  pardon 
for  having  misjudged  you  so  cruelly,  and 
then  the  whole  thing  sort  of  simmered  off 
into  a  discussion  of  whether  I  thought 
you'd  rather  she  wore  pink  or  blue  at 
breakfast.  So  I  guess  you're  all  right. 
Only  you'd  better  write  quick  and  apolo- 
gize. 

I  didn't  get  at  the  facts  of  the  quarrel, 
but  you're  in  the  wrong.  A  fellow's 
always  in  the  wrong  when  he  quarrels 
with  a  woman,  and  even  if  he  wasn't  at 
the  start  he's  sure  to  be  before  he  gets 
through.  And  a  man  who's  decided  to 
marry  can't  be  too  quick  learning  to 
apologize  for  things  he  didn't  say  and  to 
be  forgiven  for  things  he  didn't  do. 
When  you  differ  with  your  wife,  never  try 

93 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

to  reason  out  who's  in  the  wrong,  because 
you'll  find  that  after  you've  proved  it  to 
her  she'll  still  have  a  lot  of  talk  left  that 
she  hasn't  used. 

Of  course,  it  isn't  natural  and  it  isn't 
safe  for  married  people,  and  especially 
young  married  people,  not  to  quarrel  a 
little,  but  you'll  save  a  heap  of  trouble  if 
you  make  it  a  rule  never  to  refuse  a  re- 
quest before  breakfast  and  never  to  grant 
one  after  dinner.  I  don't  know  why  it 
is,  but  most  women  get  up  in  the  morning 
as  cheerful  as  a  breakfast-food  ad.,  while 
a  man  will  snort  and  paw  for  trouble  the 
minute  his  hoofs  touch  the  floor.  Then, 
if  you'll  remember  that  the  longer  the 
last  word  is  kept  the  bitterer  it  gets,  and 
that  your  wife  is  bound  to  have  it  any- 
way, you'll  cut  the  rest  of  your  quarrels 
so  short  that  she'll  never  find  out  just 
how  much  meanness  there  is  in  you.  Be 
the  silent  partner  at  home  and  the  think- 
ing one  at  the  office.  Do  your  loose  talk- 
ing in  your  sleep. 

94 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

Of  course,  if  you  get  a  woman  who's 
really  fond  of  quarreling  there  isn't  any 
special  use  in  keeping  still,  because  she'll 
holler  if  you  talk  back  and  yell  if  you 
don't.  The  best  that  you  can  do  is  to 
pretend  that  you've  got  a  chronic  case 
of  ear-ache,  and  keep  your  ears  stuffed 
with  cotton.  Then,  like  as  not,  she'll  buy 
you  one  of  these  things  that  you  hold  in 
your  mouth  so  that  you  can  hear  through 
your  teeth. 

I  don't  believe  you're  going  to  draw 
anything  of  that  sort  with  Helen,  but 
this  is  a  mighty  uncertain  world,  espe- 
cially when  you  get  to  betting  on  which 
way  the  kitten  is  going  to  jump — you 
can  usually  guess  right  about  the  cat— 
and  things  don't  always  work  out  as 
planned. 

While  there's  no  sure  rule  for  keeping 
out  of  trouble  in  this  world,  there's  a 
whole  set  of  them  for  getting  into  it. 

I  remember  a  mighty  nice,  careful 
mother  who  used  to  shudder  when  slang 

95 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

was  used  in  her  presence.  So  she  vowed 
she'd  give  her  son  a  name  that  the  boys 
couldn't  twist  into  any  low,  vulgar  nick- 
name. She  called  him  Algernon,  but 
the  kid  had  a  pretty  big  nose,  and  the 
first  day  he  was  sent  to  school  with  his 
long  lace  collar  and  his  short  velvet 
pants  the  boys  christened  him  Snooty, 
and  now  his  parents  are  the  only  people 
who  know  what  his  real  name  is. 

After  you've  been  married  a  little 
while  you're  going  to  find  that  there  are 
two  kinds  of  happiness  you  can  have- 
home  happiness  and  fashionable  happi- 
ness. With  the  first  kind  you  get  a  lot 
of  children  and  with  the  second  a  lot  of 
dogs.  While  the  dogs  mind  better  and 
seem  more  affectionate,  because  they 
kiss  you  with  their  whole  face,  I've  al- 
ways preferred  to  associate  with  children. 
Then,  for  the  first  kind  of  happiness  you 
keep  house  for  yourself,  and  for  the  second 
you  keep  house  for  the  neighbors. 

You  can  buy  a  lot  of  home  happiness 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

with  a  mighty  small  salary,  but  fashion- 
able happiness  always  costs  just  a  little 
more  than  you're  making.  You  can't 
keep  down  expenses  when  you've  got  to 
keep  up  appearances — that  is,  the  ap- 
pearance of  being  something  that  you 
ain't.  You're  in  the  fix  of  a  dog  chasing 
his  tail — you  can't  make  ends  meet,  and 
if  you  do  it'll  give  you  such  a  crick 
in  your  neck  that  you  won't  get  any 
real  satisfaction  out  of  your  gymnastics. 
You've  got  to  live  on  a  rump-steak 
basis  when  you're  alone,  so  that  you  can 
appear  to  be  on  a  quail-on-toast  basis 
when  you  have  company.  And  while 
they're  eating  your  quail  and  betting 
that  they're  cold-storage  birds,  they'll 
be  whispering  to  each  other  that  the 
butcher  told  their  cook  that  you  lived 
all  last  week  on  a  soup-bone  and  two 
pounds  of  Hamburger  steak.  Your  wife 
must  hog  it  around  the  house  in  an  old 
wrapper,  because  she's  got  to  have  two 
or  three  of  those  dresses  that  come  high 
97 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

on  the  bills  and  low  on  the  shoulders,  and 
when  she  wears  'em  the  neighbors  are 
going  to  wonder  how  much  you're  short 
in  your  accounts.  And  if  you've  been 
raised  a  shouting  Methodist  and  been 
used  to  hollering  your  satisfaction  in  a 
good  hearty  Glory !  or  a  Hallelujah ! 
you've  got  to  quit  it  and  go  to  one  of 
those  churches  where  the  right  answer 
to  the  question,  "What  is  the  chief  end 
of  man  ? "  is  "  Dividend,"  and  where  they 
think  you're  throwing  a  fit  and  sick  the 
sexton  on  to  you  if  you  forget  yourself 
and  whoop  it  up  a  little  when  your  re- 
ligion gets  to  working. 

Then,  if  you  do  have  any  children,  you 
can't  send  them  to  a  plain  public  school 
to  learn  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic, 
because  they've  got  to  go  to  a  fashion- 
able private  one  to  learn  hog-Latin,  hog- 
wash,  and  how  much  the  neighbors  are 
worth.  Of  course,  the  rich  children  are 
going  to  say  that  they're  pushing  little 
kids,  but  they've  got  to  learn  to  push 
98 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

and  to  shove  and  to  butt  right  in  where 
they're  not  wanted  if  they  intend  to 
herd  with  the  real  angora  billy-goats. 
They've  got  to  learn  how  to  bow  low  to 
every  one  in  front  of  them  and  to  kick  out 
at  every  one  behind  them.  It's  been 
my  experience  that  it  takes  a  good  four- 
year  course  in  snubbing  before  you  can 
graduate  a  first-class  snob. 

Then,  when  you've  sweat  along  at  it 
for  a  dozen  years  or  so,  you'll  wake  up 
some  morning  and  discover  that  your 
appearances  haven't  deceived  any  one 
but  yourself.  A  man  who  tries  that 
game  is  a  good  deal  like  the  fellow  who 
puts  on  a  fancy  vest  over  a  dirty  shirt- 
he's  the  only  person  in  the  world  who 
can't  see  the  egg-spots  under  his  chin. 
Of  course,  there  isn't  any  real  danger 
of  your  family's  wearing  a  false  front 
while  I'm  alive,  because  I  believe  Helen's 
got  too  much  sense  to  stand  for  anything 
of  the  sort;  but  if  she  should,  you  can 
expect  the  old  man  around  with  his  mega- 

99 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

phone  to  whisper  the  real  figures  to  your 
neighbors. 

I  don't  care  how  much  or  how  little 
money  you  make — I  want  you  to  under- 
stand that  there's  only  one  place  in  the 
world  where  you  can  live  a  happy  life, 
and  that's  inside  your  income.  A  family 
that's  living  beyond  its  means  is  simply 
a  business  that's  losing  money,  and  it's 
bound  to  go  to  smash.  And  to  keep  a 
safe  distance  ahead  of  the  sheriff  you've 
got  to  make  your  wife  help.  More  men 
go  broke  through  bad  management  at 
home  than  at  the  office.  And  I  might 
add  that  a  lot  of  men  who  are  used  to 
getting  only  one  dollar's  worth  of  food 
for  a  five-dollar  bill  down-town,  expect 
their  wives  to  get  five  dollars'  worth  of 
food  for  a  one-dollar  bill  at  the  corner 
grocery,  and  to  save  the  change  toward 
a  pair  of  diamond  earrings.  These  fel- 
lows would  plant  a  tin  can  and  kick 
because  they  didn't  get  a  case  of  toma- 
toes. 

100 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

Of  course,  some  women  put  their  hus- 
band's salaries  on  their  backs  instead  of 
his  ribs;  but  there  are  a  heap  more  men 
who  burn  up  their  wives'  new  sealskin 
sacques  in  two-bit  cigars.  Because  a 
man's  a  good  provider  it  doesn't  always 
mean  that  he's  a  good  husband — it  may 
mean  that  he's  a  hog.  And  when  there's 
a  cuss  in  the  family  and  it  comes  down  to 
betting  which,  on  general  principles  the 
man  always  carries  my  money.  I  make 
mistakes  at  it,  but  it's  the  only  winning 
system  I've  ever  been  able  to  discover  in 
games  of  chance. 

You  want  to  end  the  wedding  trip 
with  a  business  meeting  and  talk  to  your 
wife  quite  as  frankly  as  you  would  to 
a  man  whom  you'd  taken  into  partner- 
ship. Tell  her  just  what  your  salary  is 
and  then  lay  it  out  between  you — so 
much  for  joint  expenses,  the  house  and 
the  housekeeping,  so  much  for  her  ex- 
penses, so  much  for  yours,  and  so  much 
to  be  saved.  That  last  is  the  one  item 
101 


OLD   GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

on  which  you  can't  afford  to  economize. 
It's  the  surplus  and  undivided  profits 
account  of  your  business,  and  until  the 
concern  accumulates  a  big  one  it  isn't 
safe  to  move  into  offices  on  Easy  Street. 

A  lot  of  fool  fathers  only  give  their  fool 
daughters  a  liberal  education  in  spend- 
ing, and  it's  pretty  hard  to  teach  those 
women  the  real  facts  about  earning  and 
saving,  but  it's  got  to  be  done  unless  you 
want  to  be  the  fool  husband  of  a  fool 
wife.  These  girls  have  an  idea  that  men 
get  money  by  going  to  a  benevolent  old 
party  behind  some  brass  bars  and  shoving 
a  check  at  him  and  telling  him  that  they 
want  it  in  fifties  and  hundreds. 

You  should  take  home  your  salary  in 
actual  money  for  a  while,  and  explain 
that  it's  all  you  got  for  sweating  like  a 
dog  for  ten  hours  a  day,  through  six  long 
days,  and  that  the  cashier  handed  it  out 
with  an  expression  as  if  you  were  robbing 
the  cash-drawer  of  an  orphan  asylum. 
Make  her  understand  that  while  those 
102 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

that  have  gets,  when  they  present  a 
check,  those  that  haven't  gets  it  in  the 
neck.  Explain  that  the  benevolent  old 
party  is  only  on  duty  when  papa's 
daughter  has  a  papa  that  Bradstreet 
rates  AA,  and  that  when  papa's  daugh- 
ter's husband  presents  a  five-dollar  check 
with  a  ten-cent  overdraft,  he's  received 
by  a  low-browed  old  brute  who  calls  for 
the  bouncer  to  put  him  out.  Tell  her 
right  at  the  start  the  worst  about  the 
butcher,  and  the  grocer,  and  the  iceman, 
and  the  milkman,  and  the  plumber,  and 
the  gas-meter — that  they  want  their 
money  and  that  it  has  to  come  out 
of  that  little  roll  of  bills.  Then  give 
her  enough  to  pay  them,  even  if  you 
have  to  grab  for  your  lunch  from  a 
high  stool.  I  used  to  know  an  old  Jew 
who  said  that  the  man  who  carved  was 
always  a  fool  or  a  hog,  but  you've  got 
to  learn  not  to  divide  your  salary  on 
either  basis. 

Make  your  wife  pay  cash.     A  woman 
103 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

never  really  understands  money  till  she's 
done  that  for  a  while.  I've  noticed 
that  people  rarely  pay  down  the  money 
for  foolish  purchases — they  charge  them. 
And  it's  mighty  seldom  that  a  woman's 
extravagant  unless  she  or  her  husband 
pays  the  bills  by  check.  There's  some- 
thing about  counting  out  the  actual  legal 
tender  on  the  spot  that  keeps  a  woman 
from  really  wanting  a  lot  of  things  which 
she  thinks  she  wants. 

When  I  married  your  ma,  your  grandpa 
was  keeping  eighteen  niggers  busy  seeing 
that  the  family  did  nothing.  She'd  had  a 
liberal  education,  which,  so  far  as  I've 
been  able  to  find  out,  means  teaching  a 
woman  everything  except  the  real  busi- 
ness that  she's  going  into — that  is,  if 
she  marries.  But  when  your  ma  swapped 
the  big  house  and  the  eighteen  niggers 
for  me  and  an  old  mammy  to  do  the 
rough  work,  she  left  the  breakfast-in-bed, 
fine-lady  business  behind  her  and  started 
right  in  to  get  the  rest  of  the  education 
104 


LETTERS  TO   HIS  SON 

that  belonged  to  her.  She  did  a  mighty 
good  job,  too,  all  except  making  ends 
meet,  and  they  were  too  elastic  for  her  at 
first — sort  Of  snapped  back  and  left  a 
deficit  just  when  she  thought  she  had 
them  together. 

She  was  mighty  sorry  about  it,  but 
she'd  never  heard  of  any  way  of  getting 
money  except  asking  papa  for  it,  and 
she'd  sort  of  supposed  that  every  one 
asked  papa  when  they  wanted  any,  and, 
why  didn't  I  ask  papa  ?  I  finally  made 
her  see  that  I  couldn't  ask  my  papa, 
because  I  hadn't  any,  and  that  I  couldn't 
ask  hers,  because  it  was  against  the  rules 
of  the  game  as  I  played  it,  and  that  was 
her  first  real  lesson  in  high  finance  and 
low  finances. 

I  gave  her  the  second  when  she  came 
to  me  about  the  twentieth  of  the  month 
and  kissed  me  on  the  ear  and  sent  a  tickly 
little  whisper  after  it  to  the  effect  that  the 
household  appropriation  for  the  month 
was  exhausted  and  the  pork-barrel  and 
icx 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

the  meal-sack  and  the  chicken-coop  were 
in  the  same  enfeebled  condition. 

I  didn't  say  anything  at  first,  only 
looked  pretty  solemn,  and  then  I  allowed 
that  she'd  have  to  go  into  the  hands  of  a 
receiver.  Well,  sir,  the  way  she  snuggled 
up  to  me  and  cried  made  me  come  pretty 
close  to  weakening,  but  finally  I  told  her 
that  I  reckoned  I  could  manage  to 
be  appointed  by  the  court  and  hush  up 
the  scandal  so  the  neighbors  wouldn't 
hear  of  it. 

I  took  charge  of  her  little  books  and 
paid  over  to  myself  her  housekeeping 
money  each  month,  buying  everything 
myself,  but  explaining  every  move  I 
made,  until  in  the  end  I  had  paid  her 
out  of  debt  and  caught  up  with  my 
salary  again.  Then  I  came  home  on  the 
first  of  the  month,  handed  out  her  share 
of  the  money,  and  told  her  that  the 
receiver  had  been  discharged  by  the 
court. 

My !  but  she  was  pleased.  And  then 
106 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

she  paid  me  out  for  the  scare  I'd  given 
her  by  making  me  live  on  side-meat  and 
corn-bread  for  a  month,  so  she'd  be  sure 
not  to  get  the  sheriff  after  her  again. 
Of  course,  I  had  to  tell  her  all  about  it  in 
the  end,  and  though  she's  never  for- 
gotten what  she  learned  about  money 
during  the  receivership,  she's  never  quite 
forgiven  the  receiver. 

Speaking  of  receiving,  I  notice  the 
receipts  of  hogs  are  pretty  light.  Hold 
your  lard  prices  up  stiff  to  the  market. 
It  looks  to  me  as  if  that  Milwaukee 
crowd  was  getting  under  the  February 
delivery. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 

P.  S. — You've  got  to  square  me  with 
Helen. 


107 


No.  6 


FROM  John  Graham,  at 
the  Waldorf-Astoria, 
New  York,  to  his  son, 
Pierrepont,  at  the  Union 
Stock  Yards,  Chicago.  T^e 
young  man  has  written 
describing  the  magnificent 
wedding  presents  that  are 
being  received,  and  hinting 
discreetly  that  it  would  not 
come  amiss  if  he  knew  what 
shape  the  old  man's  was 
going  to  take,  as  he  needs 
the  money. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

VI 
NEW  YORK,  December  12,  189-. 

Dear  Pierre pont:  These  fellows  at  the 
branch  house  here  have  been  getting 
altogether  too  blamed  refined  to  suit  me 
in  their  ideas  of  what's  a  fair  day's  work, 
so  I'm  staying  over  a  little  longer  than  I 
had  intended,  in  order  to  ring  the  rising 
bell  for  them  and  to  get  them  back 
into  good  Chicago  habits.  The  manager 
started  in  to  tell  me  that  you  couldn't 
do  any  business  here  before  nine  or  ten  in 
the  morning — and  I  raised  that  boy  my- 
self ! 

We  had  a  short  season  of  something 

that  wasn't  exactly  prayer,  but  was  just 

as  earnest,  and  I  think  he  sees  the  error 

of  his  ways.     He  seemed  to  feel  that  just 

in 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

because  he  was  getting  a  fair  share  of  the 
business  I  ought  to  be  satisfied,  but  I 
don't  want  any  half -sports  out  gunning 
with  me.  It's  the  fellow  that  settles  him- 
self in  his  blind  before  the  ducks  begin  to 
fly  who  gets  everything  that's  coming  to 
his  decoys.  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  bring 
this  man  back  to  Chicago  and  give  him  a 
beef  house  where  he  has  to  report  at  five 
before  he  can  appreciate  what  a  soft  thing 
it  is  to  get  down  to  work  at  eight. 

I'm  mighty  glad  to  hear  you're  getting 
so  many  wedding  presents  that  you  think 
you'll  have  enough  to  furnish  your  house, 
only  you  don't  want  to  fingermark  them 
looking  to  see  if  a  hundred-thousand- 
dollar  check  from  me  ain't  slipped  in 
among  them,  because  it  ain't. 

I  intend  to  give  you  a  present,  all  right, 
but  there's  a  pretty  wide  margin  for 
guessing  between  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  and  the  real  figures.  And  you 
don't  want  to  feel  too  glad  about  what 
you've  got,  either,  because  you're  going 
112 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

to  find  out  that  furnishing  a  house  with 
wedding  presents  is  equivalent  to  furnish- 
ing it  on  the  installment  plan.  Along 
about  the  time  you  want  to  buy  a  go-cart 
for  the  twins,  you'll  discover  that  you'll 
have  to  make  Tommy's  busted  old  baby- 
carriage  do,  because  you've  got  to  use 
the  money  to  buy  a  tutti-frutti  ice-cream 
spoon  for  the  young  widow  who  sent  you 
a  doormat  with  "  Welcome"  on  it.  And 
when  she  gets  it,  the  young  widow  will 
call  you  that  idiotic  Mr.  Graham,  because 
she's  going  to  have  sixteen  other  tutti- 
frutti  ice-cream  spoons,  and  her  doctor's 
told  her  that  if  she  eats  sweet  things 
she'll  have  to  go  in  the  front  door  like 
a  piano — sideways. 

Then  when  you  get  the  junk  sorted 
over  and  your  house  furnished  with  it, 
you're  going  to  sit  down  to  dinner  on  some 
empty  soap-boxes,  with  the  soup  in  cut- 
glass  finger-bowls,  and  the  fish  on  a  hand- 
painted  smoking-set,  and  the  meat  on 
dinky ,  little  egg-shell  salad  plates,  with 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

ice-cream  forks  and  fruit  knives  to  eat 
with.  You'll  spend  most  of  that  meal 
wondering  why  somebody  didn't  send  you 
one  of  those  hundred  and  sixteen  piece 
five  -  dollar  -  ninety  -  eight  -  marked  -  down  - 
from-six  sets  of  china.  While  I  don't 
mean  to  say  that  the  average  wedding 
present  carries  a  curse  instead  of  a  bless- 
ing, it  could  usually  repeat  a  few  cuss- 
words  if  it  had  a  retentive  memory. 

Speaking  of  wedding  presents  and 
hundred-thousand-dollar  checks  natu- 
rally brings  to  mind  my  old  friend  Ham- 
ilton Huggins — Old  Ham  they  called  him 
at  the  Yards — and  the  time  he  gave  his 
son,  Percival,  a  million  dollars. 

Take  him  by  and  large,  Ham  was  as 
slick  as  a  greased  pig.  Before  he  came 
along,  the  heft  of  the  beef  hearts  went 
into  the  fertilizer  tanks,  but  he  reasoned 
out  that  they  weren't  really  tough,  but 
that  their  firmness  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  meat  in  them  was  naturally  con- 
densed, and  so  he  started  putting  them 
114 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

out  in  his  celebrated  condensed  mince- 
meat at  ten  cents  a  pound.  Took  his 
pigs'  livers,  too,  and  worked  'em  up  into 
a  genuine  Strasburg  pate  de  foie  gras 
that  made  the  wild  geese  honk  when  they 
flew  over  his  packing-house.  Discovered 
that  a  little  chopped  cheek-meat  at  two 
cents  a  pound  was  a  blamed  sight 
healthier  than  chopped  pork  at  six. 
Reckoned  that  by  running  twenty-five 
per  cent,  of  it  into  his  pork  sausage  he 
saved  a  hundred  thousand  people  every 
year  from  becoming  cantankerous  old 
dyspeptics. 

Ham  was  simpty  one  of  those  fellows 
who  not  only  have  convolutions  in  their 
brains,  but  kinks  and  bow-knots  as  well, 
and  who  can  believe  that  any  sort  of  a 
lie  is  gospel  truth  just  so  it  is  manufac- 
tured and  labeled  on  their  own  premises. 
I  confess  I  ran  out  a  line  of  those  pigs' 
liver  pates  myself,  but  I  didn't  do  it 
because  I  was  such  a  patriot  that  I 
couldn't  stand  seeing  the  American  flag 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

insulted  by  a  lot  of  Frenchmen  getting  a 
dollar  for  a  ten-cent  article,  and  that 
simply  because  geese  have  smaller  livers 
than  pigs. 

For  all  Old  Ham  was  so  shrewd  at  the 
Yards,  he  was  one  of  those  fellows  who 
begin  losing  their  common-sense  at  the 
office  door,  and  who  reach  home  dodder- 
ing and  blithering.  Had  a  fool  wife  with 
the  society  bug  in  her  head,  and  as  he  had 
the  one-of-our-leading-citizens  bug  in  his, 
they  managed  between  them  to  raise  a 
lovely  warning  for  a  Sunday-school  super- 
intendent in  their  son,  Percival. 

Percy  was  mommer's  angel  boy  with 
the  sunny  curls,  who  was  to  be  raised  a 
gentleman  and  to  be  "  shielded  from  the 
vulgar  surroundings  and  coarse  associa- 
tions of  her  husband's  youth,"  and  he 
was  proud  popper's  pet,  whose  good  times 
weren't  going  to  be  spoiled  by  a  narrow- 
minded  old  brute  of  a  father,  or  whose 
talents  weren't  going  to  be  smothered  in 
poverty,  the  way  the  old  man's  had  been. 
116 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

No,  sir-ee,  Percy  was  going  to  have  all 
the  money  he  wanted,  with  the  whisky 
bottle  always  in  sight  on  the  sideboard 
and  no  limit  on  any  game  he  wanted  to 
sit  in,  so  that  he'd  grow  up  a  perfect  little 
gentleman  and  know  how  to  use  things 
instead  of  abusing  them. 

I  want  to  say  right  here  that  I've  heard 
a  good  deal  of  talk  in  my  time  about  using 
whisky,  and  I've  met  a  good  many 
thousand  men  who  bragged  when  they 
were  half  loaded  that  they  could  quit  at 
any  moment,  but  I've  never  met  one  of 
these  fellows  who  would  while  the  whisky 
held  out.  It's  been  my  experience  that 
when  a  fellow  begins  to  brag  that  he  can 
quit  whenever  he  wants  to,  he's  usually 
reached  the  point  where  he  can't. 

Naturally,  Percy  had  hardly  got  the 
pap-rag  out  of  his  mouth  before  he 
learned  to  smoke  cigarettes,  and  he  could 
cuss  like  a  little  gentleman  before  he 
went  into  long  pants.  Took  the  four- 
years'  sporting  course  at  Harvard,  with 
117 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

a  postgraduate  year  of  draw- poker  and 
natural  history — observing  the  habits 
and  the  speed  of  the  ponies  in  their  native 
haunts.  Then,  just  to  prove  that  he  had 
paresis,  Old  Ham  gave  him  a  million 
dollars  outright  and  a  partnership  in  his 
business. 

Percy  started  in  to  learn  the  business 
at  the  top — absorbing  as  much  of  it  as 
he  could  find  room  for  between  ten  and 
four,  with  two  hours  out  for  lunch — but 
he  never  got  down  below  the  frosting. 
The  one  thing  that  Old  Ham  wouldn't 
let  him  touch  was  the  only  thing  about 
the  business  which  really  interested  Percy 
—the  speculating  end  of  it.  But  every- 
thing else  he  did  went  with  the  old  gentle- 
man, and  he  was  always  bragging  that 
Percy  was  growing  up  into  a  big,  broad- 
gauged  merchant.  He  got  mighty  mad 
with  me  when  I  told  him  that  Percy  was 
just  a  ready-made  success  who  was  so 
small  that  he  rattled  round  in  his  seat, 
and  that  he'd  better  hold  in  his  horses, 
118 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

as  there  were  a  good  many  humps  in  the 
road  ahead  of  him. 

Old  Ham  was  a  sure-thing  packer,  like 
myself,  and  let  speculating  alone,  never 
going  into  the  market  unless  he  had  the 
goods  or  knew  where  he  could  get  them ; 
but  when  he  did  plunge  into  the  pit,  he 
usually  climbed  out  with  both  hands  full 
of  money  and  a  few  odd  thousand- dollar 
bills  sticking  in  his  hair.  So  when  he 
came  to  me  one  day  and  pointed  out  that 
Prime  Steam  Lard  at  eight  cents  for  the 
November  delivery,  and  the  West  alive 
with  hogs,  was  a  crime  against  the  con- 
sumer, I  felt  inclined  to  agree  with  him, 
and  we  took  the  bear  side  of  the  market 
together. 

Somehow,  after  we  had  gone  short  a 
big  line,  the  law  of  supply  and  demand 
quit  business.  There  were  plenty  of 
hogs  out  West,  and  all  the  packers 
were  making  plenty  of  lard,  but  people 
seemed  to  be  frying  everything  they 
ate,  and  using  lard  in  place  of  hair-oil, 
119 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

for  the  Prime  Steam  moved  out  as  fast 
as  it  was  made.  The  market  simply 
sucked  up  our  short  sales  and  hollered 
for  more,  like  a  six-months  shoat  at 
the  trough.  Pound  away  as  we  would, 
the  November  option  moved  slowly  up 
to  8^2  ,  to  9,  to  9^  -  Then,  with  delivery 
day  only  six  weeks  off,  it  jumped  over- 
night to  i o,  and  closed  firm  at  12%.  We 
stood  to  lose  a  little  over  a  million  apiece 
right  there,  and  no  knowing  what  the 
crowd  that  was  under  the  market  would 
gouge  us  for  in  the  end. 

As  soon  as  'Change  closed  that  day, 
Old  Ham  and  I  got  together  and  gave 
ourselves  one  guess  apiece  to  find  out 
where  we  stood,  and  we  both  guessed 
right — in  a  corner. 

We  had  a  little  over  a  month  to  get 
together  the  lard  to  deliver  on  our  short 
sales  or  else  pay  up,  but  we  hadn't  had 
enough  experience  in  the  paying-up 
business  to  feel  like  engaging  in  it. 
So  that  afternoon  we  wired  our  agents 
120 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

through  the  West  to  start  anything  that 
looked  like  a  hog  toward  Chicago,  and 
our  men  in  the  East  to  ship  us  every 
tierce  of  Prime  Steam  they  could  lay 
their  hands  on.  Then  we  made  ready  to 
try  out  every  bit  of  hog  fat,  from  a  grease 
spot  up,  that  we  could  find  in  the  country. 
And  all  the  time  the  price  kept  climbing 
on  us  like  a  nigger  going  up  a  persimmon 
tree,  till  it  was  rising  seventeen  cents. 

So  far  the  bull  crowd  had  managed  to 
keep  their  identity  hidden,  and  we'd  been 
pretty  modest  about  telling  the  names 
of  the  big  bears,  because  we  weren't  very 
proud  of  the  way  we'd  been  caught  nap- 
ping, and  because  Old  Ham  was  mighty 
anxious  that  Percy  shouldn't  know  that 
his  safe  old  father  had  been  using  up  the 
exception  to  his  rule  of  no  speculation. 

It  was  a  near  thing  for  us,  but  the 
American  hog  responded  nobly  —  and 
a  good  many  other  critters  as  well,  I 
suspect — and  when  it  came  on  toward 
delivery  day  we  found  that  we  had  the 
121 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

actual  lard  to  turn  over  on  our  short  con- 
tracts, and  some  to  spare.  But  Ham  and 
I  had  lost  a  little  fat  ourselves,  and  we 
had  learned  a  whole  lot  about  the  iniquity 
of  selling  goods  that  you  haven't  got,  even 
when  you  do  it  with  the  benevolent  in- 
tention of  cheapening  an  article  to  the 
consumer. 

We  got  together  at  his  office  in  the 
Board  of  Trade  building  to  play  off  the 
finals  with  the  bull  crowd.  We'd  had 
inspectors  busy  all  night  passing  the 
lard  which  we'd  gathered  together  and 
which  was  arriving  by  boat-loads  and 
train-loads.  Then,  before  'Change  opened, 
we  passed  the  word  around  through  our 
brokers  that  there  wasn't  any  big  short 
interest  left,  and  to  prove  it  they  pointed 
to  the  increase  in  the  stocks  of  Prime 
Steam  in  store  and  gave  out  the  real 
figures  on  what  was  still  in  transit.  By 
the  time  the  bell  rang  for  trading  on  the 
floor  we  had  built  the  hottest  sort  of  a 
fire  under  the  market,  and  thirty  minutes 
122 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

after  the  opening  the  price  of  the  Novem- 
ber option  had  melted  down  flat  to 
twelve  cents. 

We  gave  the  bulls  a  breathing  space 
there,  for  we  knew  we  had  them  all 
nicely  rounded  up  in  the  killing-pens,  and 
there  was  no  hurry.  But  on  toward 
noon,  when  things  looked  about  right, 
we  jumped  twenty  brokers  into  the  pit, 
all  selling  at  once  and  offering  in  any 
sized  lots  for  which  they  could  find 
takers.  It  was  like  setting  off  a  pack 
of  firecrackers — biff!  bang!  bang!  our 
brokers  gave  it  to  them,  and  when  the 
smoke  cleared  away  the  bits  of  that 
busted  corner  were  scattered  all  over  the 
pit,  and  there  was  nothing  left  for  us  to 
do  but  to  pick  up  our  profits;  for  we 
had  swung  a  loss  of  millions  over  to  the 
other  side  of  the  ledger. 

Just  as  we  were  sending  word  to  our 

brokers  to  steady  the  market  so  as  to 

prevent  a  bad  panic  and  failures,  the  door 

of   the  private  office  flew  open,  and   in 

123 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

bounced  Mr.  Percy,  looking  like  a  hound 
dog  that  had  lapped  up  a  custard  pie  while 
the  cook's  back  was  turned  and  is  hunting 
for  a  handy  bed  to  hide  under.  Had  let 
his  cigarette  go  out — he  wore  one  in  his 
face  as  regularly  as  some  fellows  wear  a 
pink  in  their  buttonhole — and  it  was 
drooping  from  his  lower  lip,  instead  of 
sticking  up  under  his  nose  in  the  old 
sporty,  sassy  way. 

"  Oh,  gov'ner  !  "  he  cried  as  he  slammed 
the  door  behind  him;  "  the  market's  gone 
to  hell." 

"Quite  so,  my  son,  quite  so,"  nodded 
Old  Ham  approvingly;  "it's  the  bottom- 
less pit  to-day,  all  right,  all  right." 

I  saw  it  coming,  but  it  came  hard. 
Percy  sputtered  and  stuttered  and  swal- 
lowed it  once  or  twice,  and  then  it  broke 
loose  in: 

"And  oh!  gov'ner,  I'm  caught — in  a 
horrid  hole — you've  got  to  help  me  out !  " 

"  Eh  !  what's  that !  "  exclaimed  the  old 
man,  losing  his  just-after-a-hearty-meal 
124 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

expression.       "  What's  that  —  caught  - 
speculating,  after  what  I've  said  to  you ! 
Don't  tell  me  that   you're   one   of   that 
bull  crowd — Don't  you  dare  do  it,  sir." 

:'  Ye-es,"  and  Percy's  voice  was  scared 
back  to  a  whisper ;  "  yes ;  and  what's  more, 
I'm  the  whole  bull  crowd — the  Great  Bull 
they've  all  been  talking  and  guessing 
about." 

Great  Scott !  but  I  felt  sick.  Here  we'd 
been,  like  two  pebbles  in  a  rooster's  giz- 
zard, grinding  up  a  lot  of  corn  that  we 
weren't  going  to  get  any  good  of.  I 
itched  to  go  for  that  young  man  myself, 
but  I  knew  this  was  one  of  those  holy 
moments  between  father  and  son  when 
an  outsider  wants  to  pull  his  tongue  back 
into  its  cyclone  cellar.  And  when  I 
looked  at  Ham,  I  saw  that  no  help  was 
needed,  for  the  old  man  was  coming 
out  of  his  twenty-five-years'  trance 
over  Percy.  He  didn't  say  a  word  for  a 
few  minutes,  just  kept  boring  into  the 
young  man  with  his  eyes,  and  though 
125 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

Percy  had  a  cheek  like  brass,  Ham's  stare 
went  through  it  as  easy  as  a  two-inch  bit 
goes  into  boiler-plate.  Then,  "  Take  that 
cigaroot  out  of  your  mouth,"  he  bellered. 
"  What  d'ye  mean  by  coming  into  my 
office  smoking  cigareets  ? " 

Percy  had  always  smoked  whatever  he 
blamed  pleased,  wherever  he  blamed 
pleased  before,  though  Old  Ham  wouldn't 
stand  for  it  from  any  one  else.  But  be- 
cause things  have  been  allowed  to  go  all 
wrong  for  twenty-five  years,  it's  no  reason 
why  they  should  be  allowed  to  go  wrong 
for  twenty-five  years  and  one  day;  and 
I  was  mighty  glad  to  see  Old  Ham  rub- 
bing the  sleep  out  of  his  eyes  at  last. 

"  But,  gov'ner,"  Percy  began,  throwing 
the  cigarette  away,  "  I  really— 

"Don't  you  but  me;  I  won't  stand  it. 
And  don't  you  call  me  gov'ner.  I  won't 
have  your  low-down  street  slang  in  my 
office.  So  you're  the  great  bull,  eh  ?  you 
bull-pup!  you  bull  in  a  china  shop! 
The  great  bull-calf,  you  mean.  Where'd 
126 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

you  get  the  money  for  all  this  cussed- 
ness?  Where 'd  you  get  the  money? 
Tell  me  that.  Spit  it  out  —  quick  —  I 
say." 

"Well,  I've  got  a  million  dollars," 
Percy  dribbled  out. 

"  Had  a  million  dollars,  and  it  was  my 
good  money,"  the  old  man  moaned. 

"And  an  interest  in  the  business,  you 
know." 

"  Yep ;  I  oughter.  I  s'pose  you  hocked 
that." 

"Not  exactly;  but  it  helped  me  to 
raise  a  little  money." 

"You  bet  it  helped  you;  but  where'd 
you  get  the  rest  ?  Where'd  you  raise  the 
money  to  buy  all  this  cash  lard  and  ship 
it  abroad?  Where'd  you  get  it?  You 
tell  me  that." 

"Well,  ah — the  banks — loaned — me— 
a — good  deal." 

"On  your  face." 

"  Not  exactly  that — but  they  thought 
— inferred — that  you  were  interested  with 
127 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

me — and  without—  Percy's  tongue 

came  to  a  full  stop  when  he  saw  the  old 
man's  face. 

"  Oh  !  they  did,  eh  !  they  did,  eh  ! "  Ham 
exploded.  "  Tried  to  bust  your  poor  old 
father,  did  you !  Would  like  to  see  him 
begging  his  bread,  would  you,  or  piking 
in  the  bucket-shops  for  five-dollar  bills ! 
Wasn't  satisfied  with  soaking  him  with 
his  own  million !  Couldn't  rest  when 
you'd  swatted  him  with  his  own  business  ! 
Wanted  to  bat  him  over  the  head  with 
his  own  credit !  And  now  you  come 
whining  around— 

"  But,  dad- 

"  Don't  you  dad  me,  dad-fetch  you— 
don't  you  try  any  Absalom  business  on 
me.  You're  caught  by  the  hair,  all  right, 
and  I'm  not  going  to  chip  in  for  any 
funeral  expenses." 

Right  here  I  took  a  hand  myself,  be- 
cause I  was  afraid  Ham  was  going  to  lose 
his  temper,  and  that's  one  thing  you  can't 
always  pick  up  in  the  same  place  that 
128 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

you  left  it.  So  I  called  Ham  off,  and  told 
Percy  to  come  back  in  an  hour  with  his 
head  broker  and  I'd  protect  his  trades  in 
the  meanwhile.  Then  I  pointed  out  to 
the  old  man  that  we'd  make  a  pretty 
good  thing  on  the  deal,  even  after  we'd 
let  Percy  out,  as  he'd  had  plenty  of 
company  on  the  bull  side  that  could  pay 
up;  and  anyway,  that  the  boy  was  a 
blamed  sight  more  important  than  the 
money,  and  here  was  the  chance  to  make 
a  man  of  him. 

We  were  all  ready  for  Mister  Percy 
when  he  came  back,  and  Ham  got  right 
down  to  business. 

"  Young  man,  I've  decided  to  help  you 
out  of  this  hole,"  he  began. 

Percy  chippered  right  up.  "Thank 
you,  sir,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  I'm  going  to  help  you,"  the  old 
man  went  on.  "I'm  going  to  take  all 
your  trades  off  your  hands  and  assume  all 
your  obligations  at  the  banks." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 
129 


OLD   GORGON    GRAHAM'S 

"Stop  interrupting  when  I'm  talking. 
I'm  going  to  take  up  all  your  obligations, 
and  you're  going  to  pay  me  three  million 
dollars  for  doing  it.  When  the  whole 
thing's  cleaned  up  that  will  probably 
leave  me  a  few  hundred  thousand  in  the 
hole,  but  I'm  going  to  do  the  generous 
thing  by  you." 

Percy  wasn't  so  chipper  now.  "  But, 
father,"  he  protested,  "I  haven't  got 
three  million  dollars;  and  you  know 
very  well  I  can't  possibly  raise  any  three 
million  dollars." 

"  Yes,  you  can,"  said  Ham.  " There's 
the  million  I  gave  you:  that  makes  one. 
There's  your  interest  in  the  business;  I'll 
buy  it  back  for  a  million :  that  makes  two. 
And  I'll  take  your  note  at  five  per  cent, 
for  the  third  million.  A  fair  offer,  Mr. 
Graham?" 

"  Very  liberal,  indeed,  Mr.  Huggins,"  I 
answered. 

"  But  I  won't  have  anything  to  live  on, 
let  alone  any  chance  to  pay  you  back, 
130 


LETTERS  TO   HIS   SON 

if  you  take  my  interest  in  the  business 
away,"  pleaded  Percy. 

"I've  thought  of  that,  too,"  said  his 
father,  "  and  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  job. 
The  experience  you've  had  in  this  cam- 
paign ought  to  make  you  worth  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  week  to  us  in  our  option 
department.  Then  you  can  board  at 
home  for  five  dollars  a  week,  and  pay 
ten  more  on  your  note.  That'll  leave 
you  ten  per  for  clothes  and  extras." 

Percy  wriggled  and  twisted  and  tried 
tears.  Talked  a  lot  of  flip-flap  flub- 
doodle,  but  Ham  was  all  through  with 
the  proud-popper  business,  and  the  young 
man  found  him  as  full  of  knots  as  a 
hickory  root,  and  with  a  hide  that  would 
turn  the  blade  of  an  ax. 

Percy  was  simply  in  the  fix  of  the  skunk 
that  stood  on  the  track  and  humped  up 
his  back  at  the  lightning  express — there 
was  nothing  left  of  him  except  a  deficit 
and  the  stink  he'd  kicked  up.  And  a 
fellow  can't  dictate  terms  with  those 


LETTERS  TO   HIS   SON 

should  settle  endowments  on.  If  there's 
one  thing  I  like  less  than  another,  it's 
being  regarded  as  a  human  meal-ticket. 
What  is  given  to  you  always  belongs  to 
some  one  else,  and  if  the  man  who  gave 
it  doesn't  take  it  back,  some  fellow  who 
doesn't  have  to  have  things  given  to  him 
is  apt  to  come  along  and  run  away  with 
it.  But  what  you  earn  is  your  own,  and 
apt  to  return  your  affection  for  it  with 
interest — pretty  good  interest. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 

P.  S. — I  forgot  to  say  that  I  had  bought 
a  house  on  Michigan  Avenue  for  Helen, 
but  there's  a  provision  in  the  deed 
that  she  can  turn  you  out  if  you  don't 
behave. 


No.  7 


FROM  John  Graham, 
at  the  Union  Stock 
Yards,  Chicago,  to 
his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  Ye- 
massee-  on-the  -  Tallahassee. 
The  young  man  is  now  in 
the  third  quarter  of  the 
honeymoon,  and  the  old 
man  has  decided  that  it  is 
time  to  bring  him  fluttering 
down  to  earth. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

VII 
CHICAGO,  January  17,  189-. 

Dear  Pierre pont:  After  you  and  Helen 
had  gone  off  looking  as  if  you'd  just 
bought  seats  on  'Change  and  been  bap- 
tized into  full  membership  with  all  the 
sample  bags  of  grain  that  were  handy, 
I  found  your  new  mother-in-law  out  in 
the  dining-room,  and,  judging  by  the 
plates  around  her,  she  was  carrying  in 
stock  a  full  line  of  staple  and  fancy 
groceries  and  delicatessen.  When  I  struck 
her  she  was  crying  into  her  third  plate 
of  ice  cream,  and  complaining  bitterly 
to  the  butler  because  the  mould  had 
been  opened  so  carelessly  that  some  salt 
had  leaked  into  it. 

Of   course,    I    started  right   in   to   be 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

sociable  and  to  cheer  her  up,  but  I  reckon 
I  got  my  society  talk  a  little  mixed — 
I'd  been  one  of  the  pall-bearers  at  Josh 
Burton's  funeral  the  day  before — and  I 
told  her  that  she  must  bear  up  and  eat  a 
little  something  to  keep  up  her  strength, 
and  to  remember  that  our  loss  was 
Helen's  gain. 

Now,  I  don't  take  much  stock  in  all 
this  mother-in-law  talk,  though  I've 
usually  found  that  where  there's  so  much 
smoke  there's  a  little  fire;  but  I'm  bound 
to  say  that  Helen's  ma  came  back  at 
me  with  a  sniff  and  a  snort,  and  made 
me  feel  sorry  that  I'd  intruded  on  her 
sacred  grief.  Told  me  that  a  girl  of 
Helen's  beauty  and  advantages  had 
naturally  been  very,  very  popular,  and 
greatly  sought  after.  Said  that  she  had 
been  received  in  the  very  best  society  in 
Europe,  and  might  have  worn  strawberry 
leaves  if  she'd  chosen,  meaning,  I've 
since  found  out,  that  she  might  have 
married  a  duke. 

138 


Crying  into  her  third  plate  of  ice  cream 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

I  tried  to  soothe  the  old  lady,  and  to 
restore  good  feeling  by  allowing  that 
wearing  leaves  had  sort  of  gone  out  of 
fashion  with-  the  Garden  of  Eden,  and 
that  I  liked  Helen  better  in  white  satin, 
but  everything  I  said  just  seemed  to 
enrage  her  the  more.  Told  me  plainly 
that  she'd  thought,  and  hinted  that 
she'd  hoped,  right  up  to  last  month,  that 
Helen  was  going  to  marry  a  French 
nobleman,  the  Count  de  Somethingerino- 
or  other,  who  was  crazy  about  her.  So 
I  answered  that  we'd  both  had  a  narrow 
escape,  because  I'd  been  afraid  for  a  year 
that  I  might  wake  up  any  morning  and 
find  myself  the  father-in-law  of  a  Crystal 
Slipper  chorus-girl.  Then,  as  it  looked 
as  if  the  old  lady  was  going  to  bust  a 
corset-string  in  getting  out  her  answer, 
I  modestly  slipped  away,  leaving  her 
leaking  brine  and  acid  like  a  dill  pickle 
that's  had  a  bite  taken  out  of  it. 

Good  mothers  often  make  bad 
mothers-in-law,  because  they  usually 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

believe  that,  no  matter  whom  their 
daughters  marry,  they  could  have  gone 
farther  and  fared  better.  But  it  struck 
me  that  Helen's  ma  has  one  of  those 
retentive  memories  and  weak  mouths— 
the  kind  of  memory  that  never  loses 
anything  it  should  forget,  and  the  kind 
of  mouth  that  can't  retain  a  lot  of 
language  which  it  shouldn't  lose. 

Of  course,  you  want  to  honor  your 
mother-in-law,  that  your  days  may  be 
long  in  the  land;  but  you  want  to  honor 
this  one  from  a  distance,  for  the  same 
reason.  Otherwise,  I'm  afraid  you'll  hear 
a  good  deal  about  that  French  count, 
and  how  hard  it  is  for  Helen  to  have  to 
associate  with  a  lot  of  mavericks  from 
the  Stock  Yards,  when  she  might  be 
running  with  blooded  stock  on  the  other 
side.  And  if  you  glance  up  from  your 
morning  paper  and  sort  of  wonder  out 
loud  whether  Corbett  or  Fitzsimmons  is 
the  better  man,  mother-in-law  will  glare 
at  you  over  the  top  of  her  specs  and  ask 
140 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

if  you  don't  think  it's  invidious  to  make 
any  comparisons  if  they're  both  striving 
to  lead  earnest,  Christian  lives.  Then, 
when  you  come  home  at  night,  you'll  be 
apt  to  find  your  wife  sniffing  your  breath 
when  you  kiss  her,  to  see  if  she  can  catch 
that  queer,  heavy  smell  which  mother 
has  noticed  on  it ;  or  looking  at  you  slant- 
eyed  when  she  feels  some  letters  in  your 
coat,  and  wondering  if  what  mother  says 
is  true,  and  if  men  who've  once  taken 
chorus-girls  to  supper  never  really  recover 
from  the  habit. 

On  general  principles,  it's  pretty  good 
doctrine  that  two's  a  company  and  three's 
a  crowd,  except  when  the  third  is  a  cook. 
But  I  should  say  that  when  the  third  is 
Helen's  ma  it's  a  mob,  out  looking  for  a 
chance  to  make  rough-house.  A  good 
cook,  a  good  wife  and  a  good  job  will 
make  a  good  home  anywhere;  but  you 
add  your  mother-in-law,  and  the  first 
thing  you  know  you've  got  two  homes, 
and  one  of  them  is  being  run  on  alimony. 
141 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

You  want  to  remember  that,  beside 
your  mother-in-law,  you're  a  comparative 
stranger  to  your  wife.  After  you  and 
Helen  have  lived  together  for  a  year,  you 
ought  to  be  so  well  acquainted  that 
she'll  begin  to  believe  that  you  know 
almost  as  much  as  mamma;  but  during 
the  first  few  months  of  married  life  there 
are  apt  to  be  a  good  many  tie  votes  on 
important  matters,  and  if  mother-in-law 
is  on  the  premises  she  is  generally  going 
to  break  the  tie  by  casting  the  deciding 
vote  with  daughter.  A  man  can  often 
get  the  best  of  one  woman,  or  ten  men, 
but  not  of  two  women,  when  one  of  the 
two  is  mother-in-law. 

When  a  young  wife  starts  housekeeping 
with  her  mother  too  handy,  it's  like 
running  a  business  with  a  new  manager 
and  keeping  the  old  one  along  to  see  how- 
things  go.  '  It's  not  in  human  nature 
that  the  old  manager,  even  with  the  best 
disposition  in  the  world,  shouldn't  knock 
the  new  one  a  little,  and  you're  Helen's 
142 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

new  manager.  When  I  want  to  make 
a  change,  I  go  about  it  like  a  crab — get 
rid  of  the  old  shell  first,  and  then  plunge 
right  in  and  begin  to  do  business  with  the 
new  skin.  It  may  be  a  little  tender  and 
open  to  attack  at  first,  but  it  doesn't  take 
long  to  toughen  up  when  it  finds  out  that 
the  responsibility  of  protecting  my  white 
meat  is  on  it. 

You  start  a  woman  with  sense  to  mak- 
ing mistakes  and  you've  started  her  to 
learning  common-sense ;  but  you  let  some 
one  else  shoulder  her  natural  responsi- 
bilities and  keep  her  from  exercising 
her  brain,  and  it'll  be  fat-witted  before 
she's  forty.  A  lot  of  girls  find  it  mighty 
handy  to  start  with  mother  to  look  after 
the  housekeeping  and  later  to  raise  the 
baby;  but  by  and  by,  when  mamma  has 
to  quit,  they  don't  understand  that  the 
butcher  has  to  be  called  down  regularly 
for  leaving  those  heavy  ends  on  the  steak 
or  running  in  the  shoulder  chops  on  you, 
and  that  when  Willie  has  the  croup  she 


OLD   GORGON    GRAHAM'S 

mustn't  give  the  little  darling  a  stiff  hot 
Scotch,  or  try  to  remove  the  phlegm 
from  his  throat  with  a  button-hook. 

There  are  a  lot  of  women  in  this  world 
who  think  that  there's  only  one  side  to 
the  married  relation,  and  that's  their 
side.  When  one  of  them  marries,  she 
starts  right  out  to  train  her  husband 
into  kind  old  Carlo,  who'll  go  down- 
town for  her  every  morning  and  come 
home  ever}'  night,  fetching  a  snug  little 
basketful  of  money  in  his  mouth  and 
wagging  his  tail  as  he  lays  it  at  her  feet. 
Then  it's  a  pat  on  the  head  and  "  Nice 
doggie."  And  he's  taught  to  stand 
around  evenings,  retrieving  her  gloves 
and  handkerchief,  and  snapping  up  with 
a  pleased  licking  of  his  chops  any  little 
word  that  she  may  throw  to  him.  But 
you  let  him  start  in  to  have  a  little  fun 
scratching  and  stretching  himself,  or 
pawing  her,  and  it's  " Charge,  Carlo!" 
and  "  Bad  doggie  !  " 

Of  course,  no  man  ever  believes  when 
144 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

he  marries  that  he's  going  to  wind  up 
as  kind  Carlo,  who  droops  his  head  so 
that  the  children  can  pull  his  ears,  and 
who  sticks  up  his  paw  so  as  to  make  it 
easier  for  his  wife  to  pull  his  leg.  But 
it's  simpler  than  you  think. 

As  long  as  fond  fathers  slave  and  am- 
bitious mothers  sacrifice  so  that  foolish 
daughters  can  hide  the  petticoats  of 
poverty  under  a  silk  dress  and  crowd 
the  doings  of  cheap  society  into  the 
space  in  their  heads  which  ought  to  be 
filled  with  plain,  useful  knowledge,  a  lot 
of  girls  are  going  to  grow  up  with  the 
idea  that  getting  married  means  getting 
rid  of  care  and  responsibility  instead  of 
assuming  it. 

A  fellow  can't  play  the  game  with  a 
girl  of  this  sort,  because  she  can't  play 
fair.  He  wants  her  love  and  a  wife; 
she  wants  a  provider,  not  a  lover,  and 
she  takes  him  as  a  husband  because  she 
can't  draw  his  salary  any  other  way. 
But  she  can't  return  his  affection,  because 


OLD    GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

her  love  is  already  given  to  another; 
and  when  husband  and  wife  both  love 
the  same  person,  and  that  person  is  the 
wife,  it's  usually  a  life  sentence  at  hard 
labor  for  the  husband.  If  he  wakes  up 
a  little  and  tries  to  assert  himself  after 
he's  been  married  a  year  or  so,  she 
shudders  and  sobs  until  he  sees  what  a 
brute  he  is;  or  if  that  doesn't  work,  and 
he  still  pretends  to  have  a  little  spirit, 
she  goes  off  into  a  rage  and  hysterics,  and 
that  usually  brings  him  to  heel  again. 
It's  a  mighty  curious  thing  how  a  woman 
who  has  the  appetite  and  instincts  of  a 
turkey  -  buzzard  will  often  make  her 
husband  believe  that  she's  as  high-strung 
and  delicate  as  a  canary-bird ! 

It's  been  my  experience  that  both  men 
and  women  can  fool  each  other  before 
marriage,  and  that  women  can  keep  right 
along  fooling  men  after  marriage,  but 
that  as  soon  as  the  average  man  gets 
married  he  gets  found  out.  After  a 
woman  has  lived  in  the  same  house  with 
146 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

a  man  for  a  year,  she  knows  him  like 
a  good  merchant  knows  his  stock,  down 
to  any  shelf -worn  and  slightly  damaged 
morals  which  he  may  be  hiding  behind 
fresher  goods  in  the  darkest  corner  of  his 
immortal  soul.  But  even  if  she's  married 
to  a  fellow  who's  so  mean  that  he'd 
take  the  pennies  off  a  dead  man's  eyes 
(not  because  he  needed  the  money,  but 
because  he  hadn't  the  change  handy 
for.  a  two-cent  stamp),  she'll  never  own 
up  to  the  worst  about  him,  even  to  her- 
self, till  she  gets  him  into  a  divorce  court. 
I  simply  mention  these  things  in  a 
general  way.  Helen  has  shown  signs  of 
loving  you,  and  you've  never  shown  any 
symptoms  of  hating  yourself,  so  I'm  not 
really  afraid  that  you're  going  to  get  the 
worst  of  it  now.  So  far  as  I  can  see, 
your  mother-in-law  is  the  only  real 
trouble  that  you  have  married.  But 
don't  you  make  the  mistake  of  criticizing 
her  to  Helen  or  of  quarrelling  with  her. 
I'll  attend  to  both  for  the  family.  You 
147 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

simply  want  to  dodge  when  she  leads 
with  the  right,  take  your  full  ten  seconds 
on  the  floor,  and  come  back  with  your 
left  cheek  turned  toward  her,  though, 
of  course,  you'll  yank  it  back  out  of  reach 
just  before  she  lands  on  it.  There's 
nothing  like  using  a  little  diplomacy  in 
this  world,  and,  so  far  as  women  are 
concerned,  diplomacy  is  knowing  when 
to  stay  away.  And  a  diplomatist  is  one 
who  lets  the  other  fellow  think  he's  get- 
ting his  way,  while  all  the  time  he's  hav- 
ing his  own.  It  never  does  any  special 
harm  to  let  people  have  their  way  with 
their  mouths. 

What  you  want  to  do  is  to  keep  mother- 
in-law  from  mixing  up  in  your  family 
affairs  until  after  she  gets  used  to  the 
disgrace  of  having  a  pork-packer  for  a 
son-in-law,  and  Helen  gets  used  to  pulling 
in  harness  with  you.  Then  mother'll 
mellow  up  into  a  nice  old  lady  who'll 
brag  about  you  to  the  neighbors.  But 
until  she  gets  to  this  point,  you've  got 
148 


LETTERS  TO   HIS   SON 

to  let  her  hurt  your  feelings  without 
hurting  hers.  Don't  you  ever  forget  that 
Helen's  got  a  mother-in-law,  too,  and 
that  it's  some  one  you  think  a  heap  of. 

Whenever  I  hear  of  a  fellow's  being 
found  out  by  his  wife,  it  always  brings 
to  mind  the  case  of  Dick  Hodgkins, 
whom  I  knew  when  I  was  a  young  fellow, 
back  in  Missouri.  Dickie  was  one  of  a 
family  of  twelve,  who  all  ran  a  little 
small  any  way  you  sized  them  up,  and 
he  was  the  runt.  Like  most  of  these 
little  fellows,  when  he  came  to  match  up 
for  double  harness,  he  picked  out  a  six- 
footer,  Kate  Miggs.  Used  to  call  her 
Honeybunch,  I  remember,  and  she  called 
him  Doodums. 

Honeybunch  was  a  good  girl,  but  she 
was  as  strong  as  a  six-mule  team,  and  a 
cautious  man  just  naturally  shied  away 
from  her.  Was  a  pretty  free  stepper  in 
the  mazes  of  the  dance,  and  once,  when 
she  was  balancing  partners  with  Doo- 
dums, she  kicked  out  sort  of  playful  to 
149 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

give  him  a  love  pat  and  fetched  him  a 
clip  with  her  tootsey  that  gave  him 
water  on  the  kneepan.  It  ought  to  have 
been  a  warning  to  Doodums,  but  he  was 
plumb  infatuated,  and  went  around  pre- 
tending that  he'd  been  kicked  by  a  horse. 
After  that  the  boys  used  to  make  Honey- 
bunch  mighty  mad  when  she  came  out 
of  dark  corners  with  Doodums,  by  feeling 
him  to  see  if  any  of  his  ribs  were  broken. 
Still  he  didn't  take  the  hint,  and  in  the 
end  she  led  him  to  the  altar. 

We  started  in  to  give  them  a  lovely 
shivaree  after  the  wedding,  beginning 
with  a  sort  of  yell  which  had  been  in- 
vented by  the  only  fellow  in  town  who 
had  been  to  college. 

As  I  remember,  it  ran  something  like 
this: 

Hun,  hun,  hunch  ! 

Bun,  bun,  bunch! 

Funny,  funny  ! 

Honey,  honey! 

Funny  Honcybunch  ! 
150 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

But  as  soon  as  we  got  this  off,  and 
before  we  could  begin  on  the  dishpan 
chorus,  Honeybunch  came  at  us  with  a 
couple  of  bed-slats  and  cleaned  us  all  out. 

Before  he  had  married,  Doodums  had 
been  one  of  half  a  dozen  half-baked  sports 
who  drank  cheap  whisky  and  played 
expensive  poker  at  the  Dutchman's ;  and 
after  he'd  held  Honeybunch  in  his  lap 
evenings  for  a  month,  he  reckoned  one 
night  that  he'd  drop  down  street  and 
look  in  on  the  boys.  Honeybunch  reck- 
oned not,  and  he  didn't  press  the  matter, 
but  after  they'd  gone  to  bed  and  she'd 
dropped  off  to  sleep,  he  slipped  into  his 
clothes  and  down  the  waterspout  to  the 
ground.  He  sat  up  till  two  o'clock  at 
the  Dutchman's,  and  naturally,  the  next 
morning  he  had  a  breath  like  a  gasoline 
runabout,  and  looked  as  if  he'd  been  at- 
tending a  successful  coon-hunt  in  the 
capacity  of  the  coon. 

Honeybunch  smelt  his  breath  and  then 
she  smelt  a  mouse,  but  she  wasn't  much 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

of  a  talker  and  she  didn't  ask  any  ques- 
tions— of  him.  But  she  had  brother 
Jim  make  some  inquiries,  and  a  few  days 
later,  when  Doodums  complained  of 
feeling  all  petered  out  and  wanted  to  go 
to  bed  early,  she  was  ready  for  him. 

Honeybunch  wasn't  any  invalid,  and 
when  she  went  to  bed  it  was  to  sleep,  so 
she  rigged  up  a  simple  little  device  in  the 
way  of  an  alarm  and  dropped  off  peace- 
fully, while  Doodums  pretended  to. 

When  she  began  to  snore  in  her  upper 
register  and  to  hit  the  high  C,  he  judged 
the  coast  was  clear,  and  leaped  lightly 
out  of  bed.  Even  before  he'd  struck  the 
floor  he  knew  there 'd  been  a  horrible 
mistake  somewhere,  for  he  felt  a  tug  as  if 
he'd  hooked  a  hundred-pound  catfish. 
There  was  an  awful  ripping  and  tearing 
sound,  something  fetched  loose,  and  his 
wife  was  sitting  up  in  bed  blinking  at 
him  in  the  moonlight.  It  seemed  that 
just  before  she  went  to  sleep  she'd  pinned 
her  nightgown  to  his  with  a  safety  pin, 
152 


4t  N-n-nothin'  but  a  drink  of  water 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

which  wasn't  such  a  bad  idea  for  a  simple, 
trusting,  little  village  maiden. 

"  Was  you  want  in1  anything,  Duckie 
Doodums?"  she  asked  in  a  voice  like 
the  running  of  sap  in  maple-sugar  time. 

"  N-n-nothin'  but  a  drink  of  water, 
Honeybunch  sweetness,"  he  stammered 
back. 

'  You're  sure  you  ain't  mistook  in  your 
thirst  and  that  it  ain't  a  suddint  cravin' 
for  licker,  and  that  you  ain't  sort  of 
p'intin'  down  the  waterspout  for  the 
Dutchman's,  Duckie  Doodums?" 

"Shorely  not,  Honeybunch  darlin'," 
he  finally  fetched  up,  though  he  was 
hardly  breathing. 

"  Because  your  ma  told  me  that  you 
was  given  to  somnambulasticatin'  in 
your  sleep,  and  that  I  must  keep  you 
tied  up  nights  or  you'd  wake  up  some 
mornin'  at  the  foot  of  a  waterspout  with 
your  head  bust  open  and  a  lot  of  good 
licker  spilt  out  on  the  grass." 

"  Don't  you  love  your  Doodums  any 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

more?"  was  all  Dickie  could  find  to  say 
to  this;  but  Honeybunch  had  too  much 
on  her  mind  to  stop  and  swap  valentines 
just  then. 

'  You  wouldn't  deceive  your  Honey- 
bunch,  would  you,   Duckie  Doodums?" 

"I  shorely  would  not." 

"Well,  don't  you  do  it,  Duckie  Doo- 
dums, because  it  would  break  my  heart; 
and  if  you  should  break  my  heart  I'd 
just  naturally  bust  your  head.  Are  you 
listenin ' ,  Doodums  ? ' ' 

Doodums  was  listening. 

"  Then  you  come  back  to  bed  and  stay 
there." 

Doodums  never  called  his  wife  Honey- 
bunch  after  that.  Generally  it  was  Kate, 
and  sometimes  it  was  Kitty,  and  when 
she  wasn't  around  it  was  usually  Kitty- 
cat.  But  he  minded  better  than  any- 
thing I  ever  met  on  less  than  four  legs. 
Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 

P.  S. — You  might  tear  up  this  letter. 


No.  8 


FROM  John  Graham, 
at  the  Union  Stock 
Yards,  Chicago,  to 
his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  Yc- 
massec-on- the -Tallahassee. 
In  replying  to  his  father's 
hint  that  it  is  time  to  turn 
his  thoughts  from  love  to 
lard,  the  young  man  has 
quoted  a  French  sentence, 
and  the  old  man  has  been 
both  pained  and  puzzled 
by  it. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

VIII 

CHICAGO,  January  24,  189-. 
Dear  Pier  re  font:  I  had  to  send  your 
last  letter  to  the  fertilizer  department 
to  find  out  what  it  was  all  about.  We've 
got  a  clerk  there  who's  an  Oxford  gradu- 
ate, and  who  speaks  seven  languages  for 
fifteen  dollars  a  week,  or  at  the  rate  of 
something  more  than  two  dollars  a 
language.  Of  course,  if  you're  such  a 
big  thinker  that  your  ideas  rise  to 
the  surface  too  fast  for  one  language 
to  hold  'em  all,  it's  a  mighty  nice  thing 
to  know  seven;  but  it's  been  my  experi- 
ence that  seven  spread  out  most  men  so 
thin  that  they  haven't  anything  special 
to  say  in  any  of  them.  These  fellows 
forget  that  while  life's  a  journey,  it  isn't  a 
157 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

palace-car  trip  for  most  of  us,  and  that 
if  they  hit  the  trail  packing  a  lot  of  weight 
for  which  they  haven't  any  special  use, 
they're  not  going  to  get  very  far.  You 
learn  men  and  what  men  should  do,  and 
how  they  should  do  it,  and  then  if  you 
happen  to  have  any  foreigners  working 
for  you,  you  can  hire  a  fellow  at  fifteen 
per  to  translate  hustle  to  'em  into  their 
own  fool  language.  It's  always  been  my 
opinion  that  everybody  spoke  American 
while  the  tower  of  Babel  was  building, 
and  that  the  Lord  let  the  good  people 
keep  right  on  speaking  it.  So  when  you've 
got  anything  to  say  to  me,  I  want  you 
to  say  it  in  language  that  will  grade 
regular  on  the  Chicago  Board  of  Trade. 
Some  men  fail  from  knowing  too  little, 
but  more  fail  from  knowing  too  much, 
and  still  more  from  knowing  it  all.  It's  a 
mighty  good  thing  to  understand  French 
if  you  can  use  it  to  some  real  purpose,  but 
when  all  the  good  it  does  a  fellow  is  to 
help  him  understand  the  foreign  cuss- 
158 


LETTERS  TO  HIS   SON 

words  in  a  novel,  or  to  read  a  story  which 
is  so  tough  that  it  would  make  the 
Queen's  English  or  any  other  ladylike 
language  blush,  he'd  better  learn  hog- 
Latin  !  He  can  be  just  the  same  breed  of 
yellow  dog  in  it,  and  it  don't  take  so 
much  time  to  pick  it  up. 

Never  ask  a  man  what  he  knows,  but 
what  he  can  do.  A  fellow  may  know 
everything  that's  happened  since  the 
Lord  started  the  ball  to  rolling,  and  not 
be  able  to  do  anything  to  help  keep  it 
from  stopping.  But  when  a  man  can  do 
anything,  he's  bound  to  know  something 
worth  while.  Books  are  all  right,  but 
dead  men's  brains  are  no  good  unless  you 
mix  a  live  one's  with  them. 

It  isn't  what  a  man's  got  in  the  bank, 
but  what  he's  got  in  his  head,  that  makes 
him  a  great  merchant.  Rob  a  miser's 
safe  and  he's  broke;  but  you  can't  break 
a  big  merchant  with  a  jimmy  and  a  stick 
of  dynamite.  The  first  would  have  to 
start  again  just  where  he  began — hoard- 

159 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

ing  up  pennies;  the  second  would  have 
his  principal  assets  intact.  But  accumu- 
lating knowledge  or  piling  up  money, 
just  to  have  a  little  more  of  either  than 
the  next  fellow,  is  a  fool  game  that  no 
broad-gauged  man  has  time  enough  to 
sit  in.  Too  much  learning,  like  too  much 
money,  makes  most  men  narrow. 

I  simply  mention  these  things  in  a 
general  way.  You  know  blame  well  that 
I  don't  understand  any  French,  and  so 
when  you  spring  it  on  me  you  are  simply 
showing  a  customer  the  wrong  line  of 
goods.  It's  like  trying  to  sell  our  Pickled 
Luncheon  Tidbits  to  a  fellow  in  the  black 
belt  who  doesn't  buy  anything  but  plain 
dry-salt  hog  in  hunks  and  slabs.  It 
makes  me  a  little  nervous  for  fear  you'll 
be  sending  out  a  lot  of  letters  to  the  trade 
some  day,  asking  them  if  their  stock 
of  Porkuss  Americanuss  isn't  running 
low. 

The  world  is  full  of  bright  men  who 
know  all  the  right  things  to  say  and  who 
160 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

say  them  in  the  wrong  place.  A  young 
fellow  always  thinks  that  if  he  doesn't 
talk  he  seems  stupid,  but  it's  better  to 
shut  up  and  seem  dull  than  to  open  up 
and  prove  yourself  a  fool.  It's  a  pretty 
good  rule  to  show  your  best  goods  last. 

Whenever  I  meet  one  of  those  fellows 
who  tells  you  all  he  knows,  and  a  good 
deal  that  he  doesn't  know,  as  soon  as  he's 
introduced  to  you,  I  always  think  of 
Bill  Harkness,  who  kept  a  temporary 
home  for  broken-down  horses — though 
he  didn't  call  it  that — back  in  Missouri. 
Bill  would  pick  up  an  old  critter  whose 
par  value  was  the  price  of  one  horse-hide, 
and  after  it  had  been  pulled  and  shoved 
into  his  stable,  the  boys  would  stand 
around  waiting  for  crape  to  be  hung  on 
the  door.  But  inside  a  week  Bill  would 
be  driving  down  Main  Street  behind  that 
horse,  yelling  Whoa!  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  while  it  tried  to  kick  holes  in  the 
dashboard. 

Bill  had  a  theory  that  the  Ten  Com- 
161 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

mandments  were  suspended  while  a  horse- 
trade  was  going  on,  so  he  did  most  of 
his  business  with  strangers.  Caught  a 
Northerner  nosing  round  his  barn  one 
day,  and  inside  of  ten  minutes  the  fellow 
was  driving  off  behind  what  Bill  described 
as  "the  peartest  piece  of  ginger  and 
cayenne  in  Pike  County."  Bill  just 
made  a  free  gift  of  it  to  the  Yankee,  he 
said,  but  to  keep  the  transaction  from 
being  a  piece  of  pure  charity  he  accepted 
fifty  dollars  from  him. 

The  stranger  drove  all  over  town 
bragging  of  his  bargain,  until  some  one 
casually  called  his  attention  to  the  fact 
that  the  mare  was  stone-blind.  Then  he 
hiked  back  to  Bill's  and  went  for  him  in 
broken  Bostonese,  winding  up  with: 

"What  the  skip-two-and-carry-one  do 
you  mean,  you  old  hold-your-breath-and- 
take-ten-s wallows,  by  stealing  my  good 
money.  Didn't  you  know  the  horse  was 
blind?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"Yep,"  Bill  bit  off  from  his  piece  of 
162 


LETTERS  TO   HIS   SON 

store  plug;  "  I  reckon  I  knew  the  hoss  was 
blind,  but  you  see  the  feller  I  bought  her 
of  "  —and  he  paused  to  settle  his  chaw — 
"asked  me  not  to  mention  it.  You 
wouldn't  have  me  violate  a  confidence  as 
affected  the  repertashun  of  a  pore  dumb 
critter,  and  her  of  the  opposite  sect, 
would  you  ? "  And  the  gallant  Bill  turned 
scornfully  away  from  the  stranger. 

There  were  a  good  many  holes  in  Bill's 
methods,  but  he  never  leaked  information 
through  them;  and  when  I  come  across 
a  fellow  who  doesn't  mention  it  when 
he's  asked  not  to,  I  come  pretty  near 
letting  him  fix  his  own  salary.  It's 
only  a  mighty  big  man  that  doesn't  care 
whether  the  people  whom  he  meets  be- 
lieve that  he's  big;  but  the  smaller  a 
fellow  is,  the  bigger  he  wants  to  appear. 
He  hasn't  anything  of  his  own  in  his  head 
that's  of  any  special  importance,  so  just 
to  prove  that  he's  a  trusted  employee,  and 
in  the  confidence  of  the  boss,  he  gives 
away  everything  he  knows  about  the 
163 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

business,  and,  as  that  isn't  much,  he  lies 
a  little  to  swell  it  up.  It's  a  mighty  curi- 
ous thing  how  some  men  will  lie  a  little 
to  impress  people  who  are  laughing  at 
them;  will  drink  a  little  in  order  to  sit 
around  with  people  who  want  to  get  away 
from  them;  and  will  even  steal  a  little 
to  "go  into  society"  with  people  who 
sneer  at  them. 

The  most  important  animal  in  the 
world  is  a  turkey-cock.  You  let  him  get 
among  the  chickens  on  the  manure  pile 
behind  the  barn,  with  his  wings  held 
down  stiff,  his  tail  feathers  stuck  up 
starchy,  his  wish-bone  poked  out  perky, 
and  gobbling  for  room  to  show  his  fancy 
steps,  and  he's  a  mighty  impressive  fowl. 
But  a  small  boy  with  a  rock  and  a  good 
aim  can  make  him  run  a  mile.  When 
you  see  a  fellow  swelling  up  and  telling 
his  firm's  secrets,  holler  Cash !  and  you'll 
stampede  him  back  to  his  hall  bedroom. 

I  dwell  a  little  on  this  matter  of  loose 
talking,  because  it  breaks  up  more  firms 
164 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

and  more  homes  than  any  other  one 
thing  I  know.  The  father  of  lies  lives 
in  Hell,  but  he  spends  a  good  deal  of  his 
time  in  Chicago.  You'll  find  him  on 
the  Board  of  Trade  when  the  market's 
wobbling,  saying  that  the  Russians  are 
just  about  to  eat  up  Turkey,  and  that 
it'll  take  twenty  million  bushels  of  our 
wheat  to  make  the  bread  for  the  sand- 
wich; and  down  in  the  street,  asking  if 
you  knew  that  the  cashier  of  the  Teenth 
National  was  leading  a  double  life  as  a 
single  man  in  the  suburbs  and  a  singular 
life  for  a  married  man  in  the  city;  and 
out  on  Prairie  Avenue,  whispering  that 
it's  too  bad  Mabel  smokes  Turkish  cigar- 
ettes, for  she's  got  such  pretty  curly 
hair;  and  how  sad  it  is  that  Daisy  and 
Dan  are  going  to  separate,  "  but  they  do 
say  that  he —  sh !  sh !  hush;  here  she 
comes."  Yet,  when  you  come  to  wash 
your  pan  of  dirt,  and  the  lies  have  all 
been  carried  off  down  the  flume,  and 
you've  got  the  color  of  the  few  particles 

165 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

of  solid,  eighteen-carat  truth  left,  you'll 
find  it's  the  Sultan  who's  smoking  Turk- 
ish cigarettes;  and  that  Mabel  is  trying 
cubebs  for  her  catarrh;  and  that  the 
cashier  of  the  Teenth  National  belongs 
to  a  whist  club  in  the  suburbs  and  is  the 
superintendent  of  a  Sunday-school  in 
the  city;  and  that  Dan  has  put  Daisy  up 
to  visiting  her  mother  to  ward  off  a 
threatened  swoop  down  from  the  old 
lady;  and  that  the  Czar  hasn't  done  a 
blame  thing  except  to  become  the  father 
of  another  girl  baby. 

It's  pretty  hard  to  know  how  to  treat 
a  lie  when  it's  about  yourself.  You  can't 
go  out  of  your  way  to  deny  it,  because 
that  puts  you  on  the  defensive ;  and  send- 
ing the  truth  after  a  lie  that's  got  a  run- 
ning start  is  like  trying  to  round  up  a 
stampeded  herd  of  steers  while  the  scare 
is  on  them.  Lies  are  great  travellers, 
and  welcome  visitors  in  a  good  many 
homes,  and  no  questions  asked.  Truth 
travels  slowly,  has  to  prove  its  identity, 
166 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

and  then  a  lot  of  people  hesitate  to  turn 
out  an  agreeable  stranger  to  make  room 
for  it. 

About  the  only  way  I  know  to  kill  a 
lie  is  to  live  the  truth.  When  your 
credit  is  doubted,  don't  bother  to  deny 
the  rumors,  but  discount  your  bills. 
When  you  are  attacked  unjustly,  avoid 
the  appearance  of  evil,  but  avoid  also 
the  appearance  of  being  too  good — that 
is,  better  than  usual.  A  man  can't  be  too 
good,  but  he  can  appear  too  good.  Surmise 
and  suspicion  feed  on  the  unusual,  and 
when  a  man  goes  about  his  business  along 
the  usual  rut,  they  soon  fade  away  for 
lack  of  nourishment.  First  and  last  every 
fellow  gets  a  lot  of  unjust  treatment  in 
this  world,  but  when  he's  as  old  as  I  am 
and  comes  to  balance  his  books  with  life 
and  to  credit  himself  with  the  mean 
things  which  weren't  true  that  have  been 
said  about  him,  and  to  debit  himself  with 
the  mean  things  which  were  true  that 
people  didn't  get  on  to  or  overlooked, 


OLD    GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

he'll  find  that  he's  had  a  tolerably  square 
deal.  This  world  has  some  pretty  rotten 
spots  on  its  skin,  but  it's,  sound  at  the 
core. 

There  are  two  ways  of  treating  gossip 
about  other  people,  and  they're  both  good 
ways.  One  is  not  to  listen  to  it,  and  the 
other  is  not  to  repeat  it.  Then  there's 
young  Buck  Pudden's  wife's  way,  and 
that's  better  than  either,  when  you're 
dealing  with  some  of  these  old  heifers 
who  browse  over  the  range  all  day, 
stuffing  themselves  with  gossip  about 
your  friends,  and  then  round  up  at  your 
house  to  chew  the  cud  and  slobber  fake 
sympathy  over  you. 

Buck  wasn't  a  bad  fellow  at  heart,  for 
he  had  the  virtue  of  trying  to  be  good, 
but  occasionally  he  would  walk  in  slip- 
pery places.  Wasn't  very  sure-footed, 
so  he  fell  down  pretty  often,  and  when 
he  fell  from  grace  it  usually  cracked  the 
ice.  Still,  as  he  used  to  say,  when  he 
shot  at  the  bar  mirrors  during  one  of  his 
1 68 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

periods  of  temporary  elevation,  he  paid 
for  what  he  broke — cash  for  the  mirrors 
and  sweat  and  blood  for  his  cussedness. 

Then  one  day  Buck  met  the  only 
woman  in  the  world — a  mighty  nice  girl 
from  St.  Jo — and  she  was  hesitating  over 
falling  in  love  with  him,  till  the  gossips 
called  to  tell  her  that  he  was  a  dear, 
lovely  fellow,  and  wasn't  it  too  bad  that 
he  had  such  horrid  habits  ?  That  settled 
it,  of  course,  and  she  married  him  in- 
side of  thirty  days,  so  that  she  could  get 
right  down  to  the  business  of  reforming 
him. 

I  don't,  as  a  usual  thing,  take  much 
stock  in  this  marrying  men  to  reform 
them,  because  a  man's  always  sure  of  a 
woman  when  he's  married  to  her,  while 
a  woman's  never  really  afraid  of  losing  a 
man  till  she's  got  him.  When  you  want 
to  teach  a  dog  new  tricks,  it's  all  right  to 
show  him  the  biscuit  first,  but  you'll 
usually  get  better  results  by  giving  it  to 
him  after  the  performance.  But  Buck's 
169 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

wife  fooled  the  whole  town  and  almost 
put  the  gossips  out  of  business  by  keep- 
ing Buck  straight  for  a  year.  She  al- 
lowed that  what  he'd  been  craving  all 
the  time  was  a  home  and  family,  and  that 
his  rare-ups  came  from  not  having  'em. 
Then,  like  most  reformers,  she  overdid 
it — went  and  had  twins.  Buck  thought 
he  owned  the  town,  of  course,  and  that 
would  have  been  all  right  if  he  hadn't 
included  the  saloons  among  his  real 
estate.  Had  to  take  his  drinks  in 
pairs,  too,  and  naturally,  when  he  went 
home  that  night  and  had  another  look 
at  the  new  arrivals,  he  thought  they  were 
quadruplets. 

Buck  straightened  right  out  the  next 
day,  went  to  his  wife  and  told  her  all 
about  it,  and  that  was  the  last  time  he 
ever  had  to  hang  his  head  when  he  talked 
to  her,  for  he  never  took  another  drink. 
You  see,  she  didn't  reproach  him,  or 
nag  him — simply  said  that  she  was  mighty 
proud  of  the  way  he'd  held  on  for  a  year, 

170 


LETTERS  TO  HIS   SON 

and  that  she  knew  she  could  trust  him 
now  for  another  ten.  Man  was  made  a 
little  lower  than  the  angels,  the  Good 
Book  says,  and  I  reckon  that's  right; 
but  he  was  made  a  good  while  ago,  and 
he  hasn't  kept  very  well.  Yet  there  are 
a  heap  of  women  in  this  world  who  are 
still  right  in  the  seraphim  class.  When 
your  conscience  doesn't  tell  you  what  to- 
do  in  a  matter  of  right  and  wrong,  ask 
your  wife. 

Naturally,  the  story  of  Buck's  final 
celebration  came  to  the  gossips  like  a 
thousand-barrel  gusher  to  a  drilling  out- 
fit that's  been  finding  dusters,  and  they 
went  one  at  a  time  to  tell  Mrs.  Buck  all 
the  dreadful  details  and  how  sorry  they 
were  for  her.  She  would  just  sit  and 
listen  till  they'd  run  off  the  story,  and 
hemstitched  it,  and  embroidered  it,  and 
stuck  fancy  rosettes  all  over  it.  Then 
she'd  smile  one  of  those  sweet  baby  smiles 
that  women  give  just  before  the  hair- 
pulling  begins,  and  say: 
171 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

"  Law,  Mrs.  Wiggleford  "•  —the  deacon's 
wife  was  the  one  who  was  condoling  with 
her  at  the  moment—  "  people  will  talk 
about  the  best  of  us.  Seems  as  if  no  one 
is  safe  nowadays.  Why,  they  lie  about 
the  deacon,  even.  I  know  it  ain't  true, 
and  you  know  it  ain't  true,  but  only 
yesterday  somebody  was  trying  to  tell 
me  that  it  was  right  strange  how  a  pro- 
fessor and  a  deacon  got  that  color  in  his 
beak,  and  while  it  might  be  inflammatory 
veins  or  whatever  he  claimed  it  was, 
she  reckoned  that,  if  he'd  let  some  one 
else  tend  the  alcohol  barrel,  he  wouldn't 
have  to  charge  up  so  much  of  his  stock 
to  leakage  and  evaporation." 

Of  course,  Mrs.  Buck  had  made  up 
the  story  about  the  deacon,  because 
every  one  knew  that  he  was  too  mean  to 
drink  anything  that  he  could  sell,  but  by 
the  time  Buck's  wife  had  finished,  Mrs. 
Wiggleford  was  so  busy  explaining  and 
defending  him  that  she  hadn't  any 
further  interest  in  Buck's  case.  And 

172 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

each  one  that  called  was  sent  away  with 
a  special  piece  of  home  scandal  which 
Mrs.  Buck  had  invented  to  keep  her  mind 
from  dwelling  on  her  neighbor's  troubles. 

She  followed  up  her  system,  too,  and 
in  the  end  it  got  so  that  women  would 
waste  good  gossip  before  they'd  go  to  her 
with  it.  For  if  the  pastor's  wife  would 
tell  her  "  as  a  true  friend  "  that  the  report 
that  she  had  gone  to  the  theatre  in 
St.  Louis  was  causing  a  scandal,  she'd 
thank  her  for  being  so  sweetly  thoughtful, 
and  ask  if  nothing  was  sacred  enough  to 
be  spared  by  the  tongue  of  slander, 
though  she,  for  one,  didn't  believe  that 
there  was  anything  in  the  malicious  talk 
that  the  Doc  was  cribbing  those  power- 
ful Sunday  evening  discourses  from  a 
volume  of  Beecher's  sermons.  And  when 
they'd  press  her  for  the  name  of  her 
informant,  she'd  say:  "  No,  it  was  a  lie; 
she  knew  it  was  a  lie,  and  no  one  who  sat 
under  the  dear  pastor  would  believe  it; 
and  they  mustn't  dignify  it  by  noticing 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

"it."  As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  one  who  sat 
under  Doc  Pottle  would  have  believed  it, 
for  his  sermons  weren't  good  enough  to 
have  been  cribbed;  and  if  Beecher  could 
have  heard  one  of  them  he  would  have 
excommunicated  him. 

Buck's  wife  knew  how  to  show  goods. 
When  Buck  himself  had  used  up  all  the 
cuss- words  in  Missouri  on  his  conduct, 
she  had  sense  enough  to  know  that  his 
stock  of  trouble  was  full,  and  that  if  she 
wanted  to  get  a  hold  on  him  she  mustn't 
show  him  stripes,  but  something  in 
cheerful  checks.  Yet  when  the  trouble- 
hunters  looked  her  up,  she  had  a  full  line 
of  samples  of  their  favorite  commodity 
to  show  them. 

I  simply  mention  these  things  in  a 
general  way.  Seeing  would  naturally 
be  believing,  if  cross-eyed  people  were  the 
only  ones  who  saw  crooked,  and  hearing 
will  be  believing  when  deaf  people  are 
the  only  ones  who  don't  hear  straight. 
It's  a  pretty  safe  rule,  when  you  hear 
174 


LETTERS  TO  HIS   SON 

a  heavy  yarn  about  any  one,  to  allow  a 
fair  amount  for  tare,  and  then  to  verify 
your  weights. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 

P.  S. — I  think"  you'd  better  look  in  at 
a  few  of  the  branch  houses  on  your  way 
home  and  see  if  you  can't  make  expenses. 


No.  9 


FROM  John  Graham, 
at  the  Union  Stock 
Yards,  Chicago,  to 
his  son,  Pierrepont,  care 
of  Graham  &  Company's 
brokers,  Atlanta.  Follow- 
ing the  old  man's  sugges- 
tion, the  young  man  has 
rounded  out  the  honeymoon 
into  a  harvest  moon,  and  is 
sending  in  some  very  satis- 
factory orders  to  the  house. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

IX 

CHICAGO,  February  i,  189-. 
Dear  Pierre pont:  Judging  from  the 
way  the  orders  are  coming  in,  I  reckon 
that  you  must  be  lavishing  a  little  of 
your  surplus  ardor  on  the  trade.  So 
long  as  you  are  in  such  good  practise, 
and  can  look  a  customer  :n  the  eye  and 
make  him  believe  that  he's  the  only 
buyer  you  ever  really  loved,  you'd  better 
not  hurry  home  too  fast.  I  reckon 
Helen  won't  miss  you  for  a  few  hours 
every  day,  but  even  if  she  should  it's 
a  mighty  nice  thing  to  be  missed,  and 
she's  right  there  where  you  can  tell  her 
every  night  that  you  love  her  just  the 
same;  while  the  only  way  in  which  you 
can  express  your  unchanged  affection  for 
179 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

the  house  is  by  sending  us  lots  of  orders. 
If  you  do  that  you  needn't  bother  to 
write  and  send  us  lots  of  love. 

The  average  buyer  is  a  good  deal  like 
the  heiress  to  a  million  dollars  who's 
been  on  the  market  for  eight  or  ten  years, 
not  because  there's  no  demand  for  her, 
but  because  there's  too  much.  Most 
girls  whose  capital  of  good  looks  is  only 
moderate,  marry,  and  marry  young, 
because  they're  like  a  fellow  on  'Change 
who's  scalping  the  market — not  inclined 
to  take  chances,  and  always  ready  to 
make  a  quick  turn.  Old  maids  are 
usually  the  girls  who  were  so  homely  that 
they  never  had  an  offer,  or  so  good-looking 
that  they  carried  their  matrimonial  corner 
from  one  option  to  another  till  the  new 
crop  came  along  and  bust  them.  But  a 
girl  with  a  million  dollars  isn't  a  specu- 
lative venture.  She  can  advertise  for 
sealed  proposals  on  her  fiftieth  birthday 
and  be  oversubscribed  like  an  issue  of 
10  per  cent.  Government  bonds.  There's 

1 80 


LETTERS  TO   HIS   SON 

no  closed  season  on  heiresses,  and,  natu- 
rally, a  bird  that  can't  stick  its  head  up 
without  getting  shot  at  becomes  a  pretty 
wary  old  fowl. 

A  buyer  is  like  your  heiress — he  always 
has  a  lot  of  nice  young  drummers  flirting 
and  fooling  around  him,  but  mighty  few 
of  them  are  so  much  in  earnest  that  they 
can  convince  him  that  their  only  chance 
for  happiness  lies  in  securing  his  particu- 
lar order.  But  you  let  one  of  these 
dead-in-earnest  boys  happen  along,  and 
the  first  thing  you  know  he's  persuaded 
the  heiress  that  he  loves  her  for  herself 
alone  or  has  eloped  from  town  with  an 
order  for  a  car-load  of  lard. 

A  lot  of  young  men  start  off  in  business 
with  an  idea  that  they  must  arm  them- 
selves with  the  same  sort  of  weapons  that 
their  competitors  carry.  There's  nothing 
in  it.  Fighting  the  devil  with  fire  is  all 
foolishness,  because  that's  the  one  weapon 
with  which  he's  more  expert  than  any 
one  else.  I  usually  find  that  it's  pretty 
181 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

good  policy  to  oppose  suspicion  with 
candor,  foxiness  with  openness,  indiffer- 
ence with  earnestness.  When  you  deal 
squarely  with  a  crooked  man  you  scare 
him  to  death,  because  he  thinks  you're 
springing  some  new  and  extra- deep  game 
on  him. 

A  fellow  who's  subject  to  cramps  and 
chills  has  no  business  in  the  water,  but 
if  you  start  to  go  in  swimming,  go  in  all 
over.  Don't  be  one  of  those  chappies 
who  prance  along  the  beach,  shivering 
and  showing  their  skinny  shapes,  and 
then  dabble  their  feet  in  the  surf,  pour  a 
little  sand  in  their  hair,  and  think  they've 
had  a  bath. 

You  mustn't  forget,  though,  that  it's 
just  as  important  to  know  when  to  come 
out  as  when  to  dive  in.  I  mention  this 
because  yesterday  some  one  who'd  run 
across  you  at  Yemassee  told  me  that 
you  and  Helen  were  exchanging  the  grip 
of  the  third  degree  under  the  breakfast- 
table,  and  trying  to  eat  your  eggs  with 
182 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

your  left  hands.  Of  course,  this  is  all 
very  right  and  proper  if  you  can  keep  it 
up,  but  I've  known  a  good  many  men 
who  would  kiss  their  wives  on  the  honey- 
moon between  swallows  of  coffee  and  look 
like  an  ass  a  year  later  when  she  chirruped 
out  at  the  breakfast-table,  "  Do  you  love 
me,  darling?"  I'm  just  a  little  afraid 
that  you're  one  of  those  fellows  who 
wants  to  hold  his  wife  in  his  lap  during 
the  first  six  months  of  his  married  life, 
and  who,  when  she  asks  him  at  the  end 
of  a  year  if  he  loves  her,  answers  "  Sure." 
I  may  be  wrong  about  this,  but  I've 
noticed  a  tendency  on  your  part  to  slop 
over  a  little,  and  a  pail  that  slops  over 
soon  empties  itself. 

It's  been  my  experience  that  most 
women  try  to  prove  their  love  by  talking 
about  it,  and  most  men  by  spending 
money.  But  when  a  pocketbook  or  a 
mouth  is  opened  too  often  nothing  but 
trouble  is  left  in  it. 

Don't  forget  the  little  attentions  due 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

your  wife,  but  don't  hurt  the  grocer's 
feelings  or  treat  the  milkman  with  silent 
contempt  in  order  to  give  them  to  her. 
You  can  hock  your  overcoat  before 
marriage  to  buy  violets  for  a  girl,  but 
when  she  has  the  run  of  your  wardrobe 
you  can't  slap  your  chest  and  explain  that 
you  stopped  wearing  it  because  you're  so 
warm-blooded.  A  sensible  woman  soon 
begins  to  understand  that  affection  can 
be  expressed  in  porterhouse  steaks  as 
well  as  in  American  beauties.  But  when 
Charlie,  on  twenty-five  a  week,  marries  a 
fool,  she  pouts  and  says  that  he  doesn't 
love  her  just  the  same  because  he  takes 
her  to  the  theatre  now  in  the  street- cars, 
instead  of  in  a  carriage,  as  he  used  to  in 
those  happy  days  before  they  were  mar- 
ried. As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  doesn't 
show  that  she's  losing  Charlie's  love,  but 
that  he's  getting  his  senses  back.  It's  been 
my  experience  that  no  man  can  really 
attend  to  business  properly  when  he's 
chased  to  the  office  every  morning  by  a 
184 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

crowd  of  infuriated  florists  and  livery- 
men. 

Of  course,  after  a  girl  has  spent  a  year  of 
evenings  listening  to  a  fellow  tell  her  that 
his  great  ambition  is  to  make  her  life 
one  grand,  sweet  song,  it  jars  her  to  find 
the  orchestra  grunting  and  snoring  over 
the  sporting  extra  some  night  along  six 
months  after  the  ceremony.  She  stays 
awake  and  cries  a  little  over  this,  so  when 
he  sees  her  across  the  liver  and  bacon  at 
breakfast,  he  forgets  that  he's  never  told 
her  before  that  she  could  look  like  any- 
thing but  an  angel,  and  asks,  "  Gee, 
Mame,  what  makes  your  nose  so  red?" 
And  that's  the  place  where  a  young 
couple  begins  to  adjust  itself  to  life  as 
it's  lived  on  Michigan  Avenue  instead  of 
in  the  story-books. 

There's  no  rule  for  getting  through  the 
next  six  months  without  going  back  to 
mamma,  except  for  the  Brute  to  be  as 
kind  as  he  knows  how  to  be  and  the  Angel 
as  forgiving  as  she  can  be.  But  at  the 

185 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

end  of  that  time  a  boy  and  girl  with  the 
right  kind  of  stuff  in  them  have  been 
graduated  into  a  man  and  a  woman.  It's 
only  calf  love  that's  always  bellering 
about  it.  When  love  is  full  grown  it  has 
few  words,  and  sometimes  it  growls  them 
out. 

I  remember,  when  I  was  a  youngster, 
hearing  old  Mrs.  Hoover  tell  of  the  trip 
she  took  with  the  Doc  just  after  the] 
were  married.  Even  as  a  young  fellcn 
the  Doc  was  a  great  exhorter.  Kne1 
more  Scripture  when  he  was  sixteen  than 
the  presiding  elder.  Couldn't  open  his 
mouth  without  losing  a  verse.  Woul( 
lose  a  chapter  when  he  yawned. 

Well,  when  Doc  was  about  twenty-five, 
he  fell  in  love  with  a  mighty  sweet  younj 
girl,  Leila  Hardin,  whom  every  one  sai< 
was  too  frivolous  for  him.     But  the  D< 
only  answered  that  it  was  his  duty  t< 
marry  her  to  bring  her  under  Christian 
influences,    and   they   set   off   down   the 
river  to  New  Orleans  on  their  honeymoon. 
186 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

Mrs.  Hoover  used  to  say  that  he 
hardly  spoke  to  her  on  the  trip.  Sat 
around  in  a  daze,  scowling  and  rolling 
his  eyes,  or  charged  up  and  down  the 
deck,  swinging  his  arms  and  muttering  to 
himself.  Scared  her  half  to  death,  and 
she  spent  all  her  time  crying  when  he 
wasn't  around.  Thought  he  didn't  love 
her  any  more,  and  it  wasn't  till  the  first 
Sunday  after  she  got  home  that  she  dis- 
covered what  had  ailed  him.  Seemed 
that  in  the  exaltation  produced  by  his 
happiness  at  having  got  her,  he'd  been 
composing  a  masterpiece,  his  famous 
sermon  on  the  Horrors  of  Hell,  that 
scared  half  of  Pike  County  into  the  fold, 
and  popularized  dominoes  with  penny 
points  as  a  substitute  for  dollar-limit 
draw-poker  among  those  whom  it  didn't 
quite  fetch. 

Curious  old  cuss,  the  Doc.  Found  his 
wife  played  the  piano  pretty  medium 
rotten,  so  when  he  wanted  to  work  him- 
self into  a  rage  about  something  he'd  sit 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

down  in  the  parlor  and  make  her  poun< 
out  "The  Maiden's  Prayer." 

It's  a  mighty  lucky  thing  that  the  Lord, 
and  not  the  neighbors,  makes  the 
matches,  because  Doc's  friends  would  have 
married  him  to  Deacon  Dody's  daughter, 
who  was  so  chuck  full  of  good  works  that 
there  was  no  room  inside  her  for  a  heart. 
She  afterward  eloped  with  a  St.  Louis 
drummer,  and  before  he  divorced  her 
she'd  become  the  best  lady  poker  player 
in  the  State  of  Missouri.  But  with 
Leila  and  the  Doc  it  was  a  case  of  give- 
and-take  from  the  start — that  is,  as  is 
usual  with  a  good  many  married  folks, 
she'd  give  and  he'd  take.  There  never 
was  a  better  minister's  wife,  and  when 
you've  said  that  you've  said  the  last 
word  about  good  wives  and  begun  talking 
about  martyrs,  because  after  a  minister's 
wife  has  pleased  her  husband  she's  got  to 
please  the  rest  of  the  church. 

I  simply    mention    Doc's    honeymoon 

in  passing  as  an  example  of  the  fact  that 

188 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

two  people  can  start  out  in  life  without 
anything  in  common  apparently,  except 
a  desire  to  make  each  other  happy,  and, 
with  that  as  a  platform  to  meet  on,  keep 
coming  closer  and  closer  together  until 
they  find  that  they  have  everything  in 
common.  It  isn't  always  the  case,  of 
course,  but  then  it's  happened  pretty 
often  that  before  I  entered  the  room  where 
an  engaged  couple  were  sitting  I've  had 
to  cough  or  whistle  to  give  them  a  chance 
to  break  away;  and  that  after  they  were 
married  I've  had  to  keep  right  on  cough- 
ing or  whistling  for  the  same  couple  to 
give  them  time  to  stop  quarreling. 

There  are  mighty  few  young  people  who 
go  into  marriage  with  any  real  idea  of  what 
it  means.  They  get  their  notion  of  it 
from  among  the  clouds  where  they  live 
while  they  are  engaged,  and,  naturally, 
about  all  the}7  find  up  there  is  wind  and 
moonshine;  or  from  novels,  which  always 
end  just  before  the  real  trouble  begins,  or 
if  they  keep  on,  leave  out  the  chapters 
189 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

that  tell  how  the  husband  finds  the 
rent  and  the  wife  the  hired  girls.  But  if 
there's  one  thing  in  the  world  about 
which  it's  possible  to  get  all  the  facts,  it's 
matrimony.  Part  of  them  are  right  in 
the  house  where  you  were  born,  and  the 
neighbors  have  the  rest. 

It's  been  my  experience  that  you've 
got  to  have  leisure  to  be  unhappy.  Half 
the  troubles  in  this  world  are  imaginary, 
and  it  takes  time  to  think  them  up. 
But  it's  these  oftener  than  the  real 
troubles  that  break  a  young  husband's 
back  or  a  young  wife's  heart. 

A  few  men  and  more  women  can  be 
happy  idle  when  they're  single,  but  once 
you  marry  them  to  each  other  they've 
got  to  find  work  or  they'll  find  trouble. 
Everybody's  got  to  raise  something  in 
this  world,  and  unless  people  raise  a  job, 
or  crops,  or  children,  they'll  raise  Cain. 
You  can  ride  three  miles  on  the  trolley 
car  to  the  Stock  Yards  every  morning 
and  find  happiness  at  the  end  of  the  trip, 
190 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

but  you  may  chase  it  all  over  the  world 
in  a  steam  yacht  without  catching  up 
with  it.  A  woman  can  find  fun  from 
the  basement  to  the  nursery  of  her  own 
house,  but  give  her  a  license  to  gad  the 
streets  and  a  bunch  of  matinee  tickets 
and  she'll  find  discontent.  There's  always 
an  idle  woman  or  an  idle  man  in  every 
divorce  case.  When  the  man  earns  the 
bread  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  it's  right 
that  the  woman  should  perspire  a  little 
baking  it. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  discontent  in  this 
world — the  discontent  that  works  and 
the  discontent  that  wrings  its  hands. 
The  first  gets  what  it  wants,  and  the 
second  loses  what  it  has.  There's  no 
cure  for  the  first  but  success;  and  there's 
no  cure  at  all  for  the  second,  especially  if 
a  woman  has  it;  for  she  doesn't  know 
what  she  wants,  and  so  you  can't  give  it 
to  her. 

Happiness  is  like  salvation — a  state 
of  grace  that  makes  you  enjoy  the  good 
191 


OLD   GORGON   G 

things  you've  got  and  keep  reaching  out 
for  better  ones  in  the  hereafter.  And 
home  isn't  what's  around  you,  but  what's 
inside  you. 

I  had  a  pretty  good  illustration  of  this 
whole  thing  some  years  ago  when 
foolish  old  uncle  died  and  left  my  cellar 
boss,  Mike  Shaughnessy,  a  million  dollars. 
I  didn't  bother  about  it  particularly,  for 
he'd  always  been  a  pretty  level-headed 
old  Mick,  and  I  supposed  that  he'd  put 
the  money  in  pickle  and  keep  right  along 
at  his  job.  But  one  morning,  when  he 
came  rooting  and  grunting  into  my 
office  in  a  sort  of  casual  way,  trying  to 
keep  a  plug  hat  from  falling  off  the  back 
of  his  head,  I  knew  that  he  was  going  to 
fly  the  track.  Started  in  to  tell  me  that 
his  extensive  property  interests  demanded 
all  his  attention  now,  but  I  cut  it  short 
with: 

"Mike,    you've   been   a   blamed   good 
cellar  boss,  but  you're  going  to  make  a 
blamed  bad  millionaire.     Think  it  over." 
192 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

Well,  sir,  I'm  hanged  if  that  fellow, 
whom  I'd  raised  from  the  time  he  was  old 
enough  to  poke  a  barrel  along  the  run- 
ways with  a  pointed  stick,  didn't  blow  a 
cloud  of  cigar  smoke  in  my  face  to  show 
that  he  was  just  as  big  as  I  was,  and  start 
right  in  to  regularly  cuss  me  out.  But 
he  didn't  get  very  far.  I  simply  looked  at 
him,  and  said  sudden,  "  Git,  you  Mick," 
and  he  wilted  back  out  of  the  office  just 
as  easy  as  if  he  hadn't  had  ten  cents. 

I  heard  of  him  off  and  on  for  the  next 
year,  putting  up  a  house  on  Michigan 
Avenue,  buying  hand-painted  pictures 
by  the  square  foot  and  paying  for  them 
by  the  square  inch — for  his  wife  had 
decided  that  they  must  occupy  their 
proper  station  in  society — and  generally 
building  up  a  mighty  high  rating  as  a 
good  thing. 

As  you  know,  I  keep  a  pretty  close  eye 

on  the  packing  house,  but  on  account  of 

my  rheumatism  I  don't  often  go  through 

the  cellars.     But  along  about  this  time 

193 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

we  began  to  get  so  many  complaints  about 
our  dry  salt  meats  that  I  decided  to  have 
a  little  peek  at  our  stock  for  myself,  and 
check  up  the  new  cellar  boss.  I  made 
for  him  and  his  gang  first,  and  I  was 
mightily  pleased,  as  I  came  upon  him 
without  his  seeing  me,  to  notice  how  he 
was  handling  his  men.  No  hollering, 
or  yelling,  or  cussing,  but  every  word 
counting  and  making  somebody  hop.  I 
was  right  upon  him  before  I  discovered 
that  it  wasn't  the  new  foreman,  but  Mike, 
who  was  bossing  the  gang.  He  half 
ducked  behind  a  pile  of  Extra  Short 
Clears  when  he  saw  me,  but  turned, 
when  he  found  that  it  was  too  late,  and 
faced  me  bold  as  brass. 

"  A  nice  state  you've  let  things  get  in 
while  I  was  away,  sorr,"  he  began. 

It  was  Mike,  the  cellar  boss,  who  knew 
his  job,  and  no  longer  Mr.  Shaughnessy, 
the  millionaire,  who  didn't  know  his,  that 
was  talking,  so  I  wasn't  too  inquisitive, 
and  only  nodded. 

194 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

"  Small  wonder,"  he  went  on,  "that 
crime's  incr'asing  an'  th'  cotton  crop's 
decr'asing  in  the  black  belt,  when  you're 
sendin'  such  mate  to  the  poor  naygurs. 
Why  don't  you  git  a  cellar  man 
that's  been  raised  with  the  hogs,  an'  '11 
treat  'em  right  when  they're  dead  ? " 

"I'm  looking  for  one,"  says  I. 

"  I  know  a  likely  lad  for  you,"  says  he. 

"Report  to  the  superintendent,"  says 
I;  and  Mike's  been  with  me  ever  since. 
I  found  out  when  I  looked  into  it  that  for 
a  week  back  he'd  been  paying  the  new 
cellar  boss  ten  dollars  a  day  to  lay  around 
outside  while  he  bossed  his  job. 

Mike  sold  his  old  masters  to  a  saloon- 
keeper and  moved  back  to  Packingtown, 
where  he  invested  all  his  money  in  houses, 
from  which  he  got  a  heap  of  satisfaction, 
because,  as  his  tenants  were  compatriots, 
he  had  plenty  of  excitement  collecting 
his  rents.  Like  most  people  who  fall 
into  fortunes  suddenly,  he  had  bought 
a  lot  of  things,  not  because  he  needed 
195 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

them  or  really  wanted  them,  but  because 
poorer  people  couldn't  have  them.  Yet 
in  the  end  he  had  sense  enough  to  see  that 
happiness  can't  be  inherited,  but  that  it 
must  be  earned. 

Being  a  millionaire  is  a  trade  like  a 
doctor's — you  must  work  up  through 
every  grade  of  earning,  saving,  spending 
and  giving,  or  you're  no  more  fit  to  be 
trusted  with  a  fortune  than  a  quack  with 
human  life.  For  there's  no  trade  in  the 
world,  except  the  doctor's,  on  which  the 
lives  and  the  happiness  of  so  many  people 
depend  as  the  millionaire's;  and  I  might 
add  that  there's  no  other  in  which  there's 
so  much  malpractice. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 


190 


No.  10 


FROM  John  Graham, 
at  Mount  Clematis, 
Michigan,  to  his  son, 
Pierrepont,  at  the  Union 
Stock  Yards,  Chicago.  The 
young  man  has  done  fa- 
mously during  the  first  year 
of  his  married  life,  and 
the  old  man  has  decided  to 
give  him  a  more  important 
position. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

x 

MOUNT  CLEMATIS,  January  i,  1900. 

Dear  Pierrepont:  Since  I  got  here,  my 
rheumatism  has  been  so  bad  mornings 
that  the  attendant  who  helps  me  dress  has 
had  to  pull  me  over  to  the  edge  of  the 
bed  by  the  seat  of  my  pajamas.  If  they 
ever  give  way,  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  stay 
in  bed  all  day.  As  near  as  I  can  figure 
out  from  what  the  doctor  says,  the  worse 
you  feel  during  the  first  few  days  you're 
taking  the  baths,  the  better  you  really 
are.  I  suppose  that  when  a  fellow  dies 
on  their  hands  they  call  it  a  cure., 

I'm  by  the  worst  of  it  for  to-day, 
though,  because  I'm  downstairs.  Just 
now  the  laugh  is  on  an  old  boy  with  benev- 
olent side- whiskers,  who's  sliding  down 
199 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

the  balusters,  and  a  fat  old  party,  who 
looks  like  a  bishop,  that's  bumping  his 
way  down  with  his  feet  sticking  out 
straight  in  front  of  him.  Shy  away 
from  these  things  that  end  in  an  ism,  my 
boy.  From  skepticism  to  rheumatism 
they've  an  ache  or  a  pain  in  every  blamed 
joint. 

Still,  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  my 
troubles,  but  about  your  own.  Barton 
leaves  us  on  the  first,  and  so  we  shall  need 
a  new  assistant  general  manager  for  the 
business.  It's  a  ten- thousand- dollar  job, 
and  a  nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and- 
ninety-nine-dollar  man  can't  fill  it.  From 
the  way  in  which  you've  handled  your 
department  during  the  past  year,  I'm 
inclined  to  think  that  you  can  deliver 
that  last  dollar's  worth  of  value.  Any- 
way, I'm  going  to  try  you,  and  you've 
got  to  make  good,  because  if  you  should 
fail  it  would  be  a  reflection  on  my  judg- 
ment as  a  merchant  and  a  blow  to  my 
pride  as  a  father.  I  could  bear  up  under 
200 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

either,  but  the  combination  would  make 
me  feel  like  firing  you. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  can't  make  you 
general  manager;  all  I  can  do  is  to  give 
you  the  title  of  general  manager.  And  a 
title  is  like  a  suit  of  clothes — it  must  fit 
the  man  who  tries  to  wear  it.  I  can 
clothe  you  in  a  little  brief  authority,  as 
your  old  college  friend,  Shakespeare,  puts 
it,  but  I  can't  keep  people  from  laughing 
at  you  when  they  see  you  swelling  around 
in  your  high- water  pants. 

It's  no  use  demanding  respect  in  this 
world ;  you've  got  to  command  it.  There's 
old  Jim  Wharton,  who,  for  acting  as  a 
fourth-class  consul  of  a  fifth-class  king, 
was  decorated  with  the  order  of  the 
garter  or  the  suspender  or  the  eagle  of  the 
sixth  class — the  kind  these  kings  give 
to  the  cook  when  he  gets  just  the  right 
flavor  of  garlic  in  a  fancy  sauce.  Jim 
never  did  a  blame  thing  in  his  life  except 
to  inherit  a  million  dollars  from  a  better 
man,  who  happened  to  come  over  on  the 
201 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

Cunard  Line  instead  of  the  Mayflower, 
but  he'd  swell  around  in  our  best  society, 
with  that  ribbon  on  his  shirt  front,  think- 
ing that  he  looked  like  Prince  Rupert  by 
Louis  the  Fourteenth  and  Lady  Clara 
Vere  de  Vere,  instead  of  the  fourth  as- 
sistant to  the  floor  manager  at  the 
Plumbers'  ball.  But  you  take  Tom 
Lipton,  who  was  swelled  up  into  Sir 
Thomas  because  he  discovered  how  to 
pack  a  genuine  Yorkshire  ham  in  Chicago, 
and  a  handle  looks  as  natural  on  him  as 
on  a  lard  pail. 

A  man  is  a  good  deal  like  a  horse — he 
knows  the  touch  of  a  master,  and  no 
matter  how  lightly  the  reins  are  held  over 
him,  he  understands  that  he  must  behave. 
But  let  a  fellow  who  isn't  quite  sure  of 
himself  begin  sawing  on  a  horse's  mouth, 
and  the  first  thing  you  know  the  critter 
bucks  and  throws  him. 

You've  only  one  pair  of  eyes  with 
which  to  watch  10,000  men,  so  unless 
they're  open  all  the  time  you'll  be  apt  to 
202 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

overlook  something  here  and  there ;  but 
you'll  have  10,000  pairs  of  eyes  watching 
you  all  the  time,  and  they  won't  over- 
look anything.  You  mustn't  be  known 
as  an  easy  boss,  or  as  a  hard  boss,  but  as 
a  just  boss.  Of  course,  some  just  men 
lean  backward  toward  severity,  and  some 
stoop  down  toward  mercy.  Both  kinds 
may  make  good  bosses,  but  I've  usually 
found  that  when  you  hold  the  whip  hand 
it's  a  great  thing  not  to  use  the  whip. 

It  looks  like  a  pretty  large  contract  to 
know  what  10,000  men  are  doing,  but, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  there's  nothing 
impossible  about  it.  In  the  first  place, 
you  don't  need  to  bother  very  much  about 
the  things  that  are  going  all  right,  except 
to  try  to  make  them  go  a  little  better; 
but  you  want  to  spend  your  time  smelling 
out  the  things  that  are  going  all  wrong 
and  laboring  with  them  till  you've  per- 
suaded them  to  lead  a  better  life.  For 
this  reason,  one  of  the  most  important 
duties  of  your  job  is  to  keep  track  of 
203 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

everything  that's  out  of  the  usual.  If 
anything  unusually  good  happens,  there's 
an  unusually  good  man  behind  it,  and 
he  ought  to  be  earmarked  for  promotion; 
and  if  anything  unusually  bad  happens, 
there's  apt  to  be  an  unusually  bad  man 
behind  that,  and  he's  a  candidate  for  a 
job  with  another  house. 

A  good  many  of  these  things  which 
it's  important  for  you  to  know  happen  a 
little  before  beginning  and  a  little  after 
quitting  time ;  and  so  the  real  reason  why 
the  name  of  the  boss  doesn't  appear  on 
the  time-sheet  is  not  because  he's  a  bigger 
man  than  any  one  else  in  the  place,  but 
because  there  shouldn't  be  any  one 
around  to  take  his  time  when  he  gets 
down  and  when  he  leaves. 

You  can  tell  a  whole  lot  about  your 
men  from  the  way  in  which  they  come 
in  and  the  way  in  which  they  go  home; 
but  because  a  fellow  is  in  the  office  early, 
it  doesn't  always  mean  that  he's  panting 
to  begin  work ;  it  may  mean  that  he's  been 
204 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

out  all  night.  And  when  you  see  a 
fellow  poring  over  his  books  after  the 
others  have  quit,  it  doesn't  always  follow 
that  he's  so  wrapped  up  in  his  work  that 
he  can't  tear  himself  away  from  it.  It 
may  mean  that  during  business  hours  he 
had  his  head  full  of  horse-racing  instead 
of  figures,  and  that  he's  staying  to  chase 
up  the  thirty  cents  which  he's  out  in  his 
balance.  You  want  to  find  out  which. 
The  extra-poor  men  and  the  extra-good 
men  always  stick  their  heads  up  above 
the  dead-level  of  good-enough  men;  the 
first  to  holler  for  help,  and  the  second  to 
get  an  extra  reach.  And  when  your  at- 
tention is  attracted  to  one  of  these  men, 
follow  him  up  and  find  out  just  what 
sort  of  soil  and  fertilizer  he  needs  to  grow 
fastest.  It  isn't  enough  to  pick  likely 
stock;  you've  got  to  plant  it  where  the 
conditions  are  right  to  develop  its  particu- 
lar possibilities.  A  fellow  who's  got  the 
making  of  a  five-thousand-dollar  office 
man  in  him  may  not  sell  enough  lard  to 
205 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

fry  a  half-portion  of  small  potatoes  if  you 
put  him  on  the  road.  Praise  judiciously 
given  may  act  on  one  man  like  an  applica- 
tion of  our  bone-meal  to  a  fruit  tree,  and 
bring  out  all  the  pippins  that  are  in  the 
wood;  while  in  the  other  it  may  simply 
result  in  his  going  all  to  top. 

You  mustn't  depend  too  much  on  the 
judgment  of  department  heads  and  fore- 
men when  picking  men  for  promotion. 
Take  their  selection  if  he  is  the  best  man, 
but  know  for  yourself  that  he  is  the  best 
man. 

Sometimes  a  foreman  will  play  a 
favorite,  and,  as  any  fellow  who's  been 
to  the  races  knows,  favorites  ain't 
always  winners.  And  sometimes,  though 
not  often,  he'll  try  to  hold  back  a  good 
man  through  jealousy.  When  I 
symptoms  of  a  foreman's  being  jealous 
of  a  man  under  him,  that  fellow  doesn't 
need  any  further  recommendation  to  me. 
A  man's  never  jealous  of  inferiority. 

It's  a  mighty  valuable  asset  for  a  boss, 
206 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

when  a  vacancy  occurs  in  a  department, 
to  be  able  to  go  to  its  head  when  he 
recommends  Bill  Smith  for  the  position, 
and  show  that  he  knows  all  about 
Bill  Smith  from  his  number  -  twelve 
socks  up  to  his  six-and-a-quarter  hat, 
and  to  ask:  "What's  the  matter  with 
Tom  Jones  for  the  job  ? "  When  you 
refuse  to  take  something  just  as  good  in 
this  world,  you'll  usually  find  that  the 
next  time  you  call  the  druggist  has  the 
original  Snicker's  Sassafras  Sneezer  in 
stock. 

It's  mighty  seldom,  though,  that  a 
really  good  man  will  complain  to  you 
that  he's  being  held  down,  or  that  his 
superior  is  jealous  of  him.  It's  been  my 
experience  that  it's  only  a  mighty  small 
head  that  so  small  an  idea  as  this  can  fill. 
When  a  fellow  has  it,  he's  a  good  deal  like 
one  of  those  girls  with  the  fatal  gift  of 
beauty  in  her  imagination,  instead  of 
her  face — always  believing  that  the  boys 
don't  dance  with  her  because  the  other 
207 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 


girls    tell    them    spiteful    things    aboul 
her. 

Besides  always  having  a  man  in  mini 
for  any  vacancy  that  may  occur,  yoi 
want  to  make  sure  that  there  are  tw< 
men  in  the  office  who  understand  the 
work  of  each  position  in  it.  Ever 
business  should  be  bigger  than  any  one 
man.  If  it  isn't,  there's  a  weak  spot  in  i1 
that  will  kill  it  in  the  end.  And  eve 
job  needs  an  understudy.  Sooner  01 
later  the  star  is  bound  to  fall  sick,  or  gel 
the  sulks  or  the  swelled  head,  and  then,  i\ 
there's  no  one  in  the  wings  who  k 
her  lines,  the  gallery  will  rotten-egg  the 
show  and  howl  for  its  money  back. 
Besides,  it  has  a  mighty  chastening  ane 
stimulating  effect  on  the  star  to 
that  if  she  balks  there's  a  sweet  younj 
thing  in  reserve  who's  able  and  eager 
go  the  distance. 

Of  course,  I  don't  mean  by  this  thai 

you  want  to  play  one  man  against  anothei 

or  try  to  minimize  to  a  good  man 

208 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

importance  to  the  house.  On  the  con- 
trary, you  want  to  dwell  on  the  importance 
of  all  positions,  from  that  of  office-boy 
up,  and  make  every  man  feel  that  he  is  a 
vital  part  of  the  machinery  of  the  busi- 
ness, without  letting  him  forget  that 
there's  a  spare  part  lying  around  handy, 
and  that  if  he  breaks  or  goes  wrong  it 
can  be  fitted  right  in  and  the  machine 
kept  running.  It's  good  human  nature  to 
want  to  feel  that  something's  going  to 
bust  when  you  quit,  but  it's  bad  manage- 
ment if  things  are  fixed  so  that  anything 
can. 

In  hiring  new  men,  you  want  to 
depend  almost  altogether  on  your  own 
eyes  and  your  own  judgment.  Remem- 
ber that  when  a  man's  asking  for  a  job 
he's  not  showing  you  himself,  but  the 
man  whom  he  wants  you  to  hire.  For 
that  reason,  I  never  take  on  an  applicant 
after  a  first  interview.  I  ask  him  to  call 
again.  The  second  time  he  may  not  be 
made  up  so  well,  and  he  may  have  for- 
209 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

gotten  some  of  his  lines.  In  any  event, 
he'll  feel  that  he  knows  you  a  little  better, 
and  so  act  a  little  easier  and  talk  a  little 
freer. 

Very  often  a  man  whom  you  didn't 
like  on  his  first  appearance  will  please 
you  better  on  his  second,  because  a  lot  o 
people    always    appear    at    their    wors 
when  they're  trying  to  appear  at  theii 
best.     And    again,    when    you    catch 
fellow  off  guard  who  seemed  all  right  the 
first  time,  you  may  find  that  he  deaconed 
himself  for  your  benefit,  and  that  all  th( 
big    strawberries    were    on    top.     Don' 
attach    too    much    importance    to    the 
things  which  an  applicant  has  a  chana 
to  do  with  deliberation,  or  pay  too  mucr 
attention    to    his    nicely    prepared    and 
memorized  speech  about  himself.     Watd 
the  little  things  which  he  does  uncon 
sciously,   and  put  unexpected  question 
which  demand  quick  answers. 

If  he's  been  working  for  Dick  Saunders 

it's  of  small  importance  what  Dick  say 

210 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

of  him  in  his  letter  of  recommendation. 
If  you  want  Dick's  real  opinion,  get  it  in 
some  other  way  than  in  an  open  note, 
of  which  the  subject's  the  bearer.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  Dick's  opinion  shouldn't 
carry  too  much  weight,  except  on  a 
question  of  honesty,  because  if  Dick  let 
him  go,  he  naturally  doesn't  think  a 
great  deal  of  him ;  and  if  the  man  resigned 
voluntarily,  Dick  is  apt  to  feel  a  little  sore 
about  it.  But  your  applicant's  opinion 
of  Dick  Saunders  is  of  very  great  im- 
portance to  you.  A  good  man  never  talks 
about  a  real  grievance  against  an  old  em- 
ployer to  a  new  one ;  a  poor  man  always 
pours  out  an  imaginary  grievance  to  any 
one  who  will  listen.  You  needn't  cheer 
in  this  world  when  you  don't  like  the 
show,  but  silence  is  louder  than  a  hiss. 
Hire  city  men  and  country  men;  men 
who  wear  grandpa's  Sunday  suit;  thread- 
bare men  and  men  dressed  in  those 
special  four-ninety-eight  bargains;  but 
don't  hire  dirty  men.  Time  and  soap 
211 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

will  cure  dirty  boys,  but  a  full-grcr 
man  who  shrinks  from  the  use  of  wa1 
externally  is  as  hard  to  cure  as  one  whc 
avoids  its  use  internally.  It's  a  might] 
curious  thing  that  you  can  tell  a  mai 
his  morals  are  bad  and  he  needs  to  gel 
religion,  and  he'll  still  remain  youi 
friend ;  but  that  if  you  tell  him  his  linen's 
dirty  and  he  needs  to  take  a  bath,  you've 
made  a  mortal  enemy. 

Give  the  preference  to  the  lean  mei 
and   the   middle  weights.     The   world 
full  of  smart  and  rich  fat  men,  but  most 
of  them  got   their  smartness   and  their 
riches  before  they  got  their  fat. 

Always  appoint  an  hour  at  which  you'll 
see  a  man,  and  if  he's  late  a  minute  don't 
bother  with  him.  A  fellow  who  can  be 
late  when  his  own  interests  are  at  stake 
is  pretty  sure  to  be  when  yours  are. 
Have  a  scribbling  pad  and  some  good 
letter  paper  on  a  desk,  and  ask  the  appli- 
cant to  write  his  name  and  address.  A 
careful  and  economical  man  will  use  the 
212 


LETTERS  TO  HIS   SON 

pad,  but  a  careless  and  wasteful  fellow 
will  reach  for  the  best  thing  in  sight, 
regardless  of  the  use  to  which  it's  to  be 
put. 

Look  in  a  man's  eyes  for  honesty; 
around  his  mouth  for  weakness;  at  his 
chin  for  strength;  at  his  hands  for  tem- 
perament; at  his  nails  for  cleanliness. 
His  tongue  will  tell  you  his  experience, 
and  under  the  questioning  of  a  shrewd 
employer  prove  or  disprove  its  statements 
as  it  runs  along.  Always  remember,  in 
the  case  of  an  applicant  from  another 
city,  that  when  a  man  says  he  doesn't 
like  the  town  in  which  he's  been  working 
it's  usually  because  he  didn't  do  very 
well  there. 

You  want  to  be  just  as  careful  about 
hiring  boys  as  men.  A  lot  of  employers 
go  on  the  theory  that  the  only  important 
thing  about  a  boy  is  his  legs,  and  if  they're 
both  fitted  on  and  limber  they  hire  him. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  boy  is  like  a  stick 
of  dynamite,  small  and  compact,  but  as 
213 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

full  of  possibilities  of  trouble  as  a  car-load 
of  gunpowder.  One  bad  boy  in  a  Sunday- 
school  picnic  can  turn  it  into  a  rough- 
house  outfit  for  looting  orchards,  and  one 
little  cuss  in  your  office  can  demoralize 
your  kids  faster  than  you  can  fire  them. 
I  remember  one  boy  who  organized  a 
secret  society,  called  the  Mysterious 
League.  It  held  meetings  in  our  big 
vault,  which  they  called  the  donjon 
keep,  and,  naturally,  when  one  of  them 
was  going  on,  boys  were  scarcer  around 
the  office  than  hen's  teeth.  The  object 
of  the  league,  as  I  shook  it  out  of  the  head 
leaguer  by  the  ear,  was  to  catch  the  head 
bookkeeper,  whom  the  boys  didn't  like, 
and  whom  they  called  the  black  caitiff, 
alone  in  the  vault  some  night  while  he 
was  putting  away  his  books,  slam  the 
door,  and  turn  the  combination  on  him. 
Tucked  away  in  a  corner  of  the  vault, 
they  had  a  message  for  him,  written  in 
red  ink,  on  a  sheep's  skull,  telling  him  to 
tremble,  that  he  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
214 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

Mysterious  League,  and  that  he  would  be 
led  at  midnight  to  the  torture  chamber. 
I  learned  afterward  that  when  the  book- 
keeper had  reached  in  his  desk  to  get  a 
pen,  a  few  days  before,  he  had  pulled 
out  a  cold,  clammy,  pickled  pig's  foot, 
on  which  was  printed:  "Beware!  first 
you  will  lose  a  leg ! " 

I  simply  mention  the  Mysterious 
League  in  passing.  Of  course,  boys  will 
be  boys,  but  you  mustn't  let  them  be  too 
cussed  boyish  during  business  hours.  A 
slow  boy  can  waste  a  lot  of  the  time  of  a 
five-thousand-dollar  man  whose  bell  he's 
answering;  and  a  careless  boy  can  mislay 
a  letter  or  drop  a  paper  that  will  ball  up 
the  work  of  the  most  careful  man  in  the 
office. 

It's  really  harder  to  tell  what  you're 
getting  when  you  hire  a  boy  than  when 
you  hire  a  man.  I  found  that  out  for 
keeps  a  few  years  ago,  when  I  took  on 
the  Angel  Child.  He  was  the  son  of 
rich  parents,  who  weren't  quite  rich 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

enough  to  buy  chips  and  sit  in  the  game 
of  the  no-limit  millionaires.  So  they 
went  in  for  what  they  called  the  simple 
life.  I  want  to  say  right  here  that  I'm  a 
great  believer  in  the  simple  life,  but  some 
people  are  so  blamed  simple  about  it  that 
they're  idiotic.  The  world  is  full  of  rich 
people  who  talk  about  leading  the  simple 
life  when  they  mean  the  stingy  life. 
They  are  the  kind  that  are  always  giving 
poorer  people  a  chance  to  chip  in  an 
even  share  with  them  toward  defraying 
the  expenses  of  the  charities  and  the 
entertainments  which  they  get  up.  They 
call  it  "  affording  those  in  humbler  walks 
an  opportunity  to  keep  up  their  self- 
respect,"  but  what  they  really  mean  is 
that  it  helps  them  to  keep  down  their 
own  expenses. 

The  Angel  Child's  mother  was  one  of 
these  women  who  talk  to  people  that 
aren't  quite  so  rich  as  she  in  the  tone  of 
one  who's  commending  a  worthy  charity; 
but  who  hangs  on  the  words  of  a  richer 
216 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

woman  like  a  dog  that  hopes  a  piece  of 
meat  is  going  to  be  thrown  at  it,  and  yet 
isn't  quite  sure  that  it  won't  get  a  kick 
instead.  As  a  side-line,  she  made  a 
specialty  of  trying  to  uplift  the  masses, 
and  her  husband  furnished  the  raw 
material  for  the  uplifting,  as  he  paid  his 
men  less  and  worked  'em  harder  than  any 
one  else  in  Chicago. 

Well,  one  day  this  woman  came  into 
my  office,  bringing  her  only  son  with  her. 
He  was  a  solemn  little  cuss,  but  I  didn't 
get  much  chance  to  size  him  up,  because 
his  ma  started  right  in  to  explain  how 
he'd  been  raised — no  whipping,  no — 
but  I  cut  it  short  there,  and  asked  her  to 
get  down  to  brass  tacks,  as  I  was  very 
busy  trying  to  see  that  70,000,000  people 
were  supplied  with  their  daily  pork.  So 
she  explained  that  she  wanted  me  to  give 
the  Angel  Child  a  job  in  my  office  during 
his  summer  vacation,  so  that  he  could 
see  how  the  other  half  lived,  and  at  the 
same  time  begin  to  learn  self-reliance. 
217 


OLD    GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

I  was  just  about  to  refuse,  when  it 
occurred  to  me  that  if  he  had  never 
really  had  a  first-class  whipping  it  was  a 
pity  not  to  put  him  in  the  way  of  getting 
one.  So  I  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led 
him  to  headquarters  for  whippings,  the 
bench  in  the  shipping  department,  where 
a  pretty  scrappy  lot  of  boys  were  em- 
ployed to  run  errands,  and  told  the  boss 
to  take  him  on. 

I  wasn't  out  of  hearing  before  one  kid 
said,  "  I  choose  him,"  and  another,  whom 
they  called  the  Breakfast-Food  Baby, 
because  he  was  so  strong,  answered, 
"Naw;  I  seen  him  first." 

I  dismissed  the  matter  from  my  min 
then,  but  a  few  days  later,  when  I  was 
walking  through  the  shipping  depart- 
ment, it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  as 
well  view  the  remains  of  the  Angel 
Child,  if  they  hadn't  been  removed  to  his 
late  residence.  I  found  him  sitting  in 
the  middle  of  the  bench,  looking  a  little 
sad  and  lonesome,  but  all  there.  The 
218 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

other  boys  seemed  to  be  giving  him 
plenty  of  room,  and  the  Breakfast-Food 
Baby,  with  both  eyes  blacked,  had 
edged  along  to  the  end  of  the  bench.  I 
beckoned  to  the  Angel  Child  to  follo\v 
me  to  my  private  office. 

"What  does  this  mean,  young  man?" 
I  asked,  when  he  got  there.  "  Have  you 
been  fighting?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  answered,  sort  of  bright- 
ening up. 

"Which  one?" 

"  Michael  and  Patrick  the  first  day, 
sir." 

"Did  you  lick  'em?" 

"I  had  rather  the  better  of  it,"  he 
answered,  as  precise  as  a  slice  of  cold- 
boiled  Boston. 

"And  the  second?" 

"Why,  the  rest  of  'em,  sir." 

"  Including  the  Breakfast- Food — er, 
James?" 

He  nodded.  "James  is  very  strong, 
sir,  but  he  lacks  science.  He  drew  back 
219 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

as  if  he  had  a  year  to  hit  me,  and  just  as 
he  got  good  and  ready  to  strike,  I  pasted 
him  one  in  the  snoot,  and  followed  that 
up  with  a  left  jab  in  the  eye." 

I  hadn't  counted  on  boxing  lessons 
being  on  the  bill  of  fare  of  the  simple 
life,  and  it  raised  my  hopes  still  further  to 
see  from  that  last  sentence  how  we  had 
grafted  a  little  Union  Stock  Yards  on  his 
Back  Bay  Boston.  In  fact,  my  heart 
quite  warmed  to  the  lad;  but  I  looked  at 
him  pretty  severely,  and  only  said: 

"  Mark  you,  young  man,  we  don't  allow 
any  fighting  around  here ;  and  if  you  can't 
get  along  without  quarrelling  with  the 
boys  in  the  shipping  department,  I'll 
have  to  bring  you  into  these  offices, 
where  I  can  have  an  eye  on  your  conduct." 

There  were  two  or  three  boys  in  the 
main  office  who  were  spoiling  for  a 
thrashing,  and  I  reckoned  that  the  Angel 
Child  would  attend  to  their  cases ;  and  he 
did.  He  was  cock  of  the  walk  in  a  week, 
and  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  bulliest, 
220 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

daisiest,  most  efficient,  most  respectful 
boys  that  ever  worked  for  me.  He  put 
a  little  polish  on  the  other  kids,  and  they 
took  a  little  of  the  extra  shine  off  him. 
He's  in  Harvard  now,  but  when  he  gets 
out  there's  a  job  waiting  for  him,  if  he'll 
take  it. 

That  was  a  clear  case  of  catching  an 
angel  on  the  fly,  or  of  entertaining  one 
unawares,  as  the  boy  would  have  put  it, 
and  it  taught  me  not  to  consider  my 
prejudices  or  his  parents  in  hiring  a  boy, 
but  to  focus  my  attention  on  the  boy 
himself,  when  he  was  the  one  who  would 
have  to  run  the  errands.  The  simple  life 
was  a  pose  and  pretense  with  the  Angel 
Child's  parents,  and  so  they  were  only  a 
new  brand  of  snob ;  but  the  kid  had  been 
caught  young  and  had  taken  it  all  in 
earnest;  and  so  he  was  a  new  breed  of 
boy,  and  a  better  one  than  I'd  ever 
hired  before. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 
221 


No.  11 


FROM    John    Graham, 
at  Mount   Clematis, 
Michigan,  to  his  son, 
Pierrepont,    at    the     Union 
Stock  Yards,  Chicago.    The 
young  man  has  sent  the  old 
man    a    dose    of    his    own 
medicine,    advice,    and    he 
is  proving  himself   a   good 
doctor  by  taking  it. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

XI 

MOUNT  CLEMATIS,  January  25,  1900. 

Dear  Pierrepont:  They've  boiled  every- 
thing out  of  me  except  the  original  sin, 
and  even  that's  a  little  bleached,  and 
they've  taken  away  my  roll  of  yellow- 
backs, so  I  reckon  they're  about  through 
with  me  here,  for  the  present.  But  in- 
stead of  returning  to  the  office,  I  think 
I'll  take  your  advice  and  run  down  to 
Florida  for  a  few  weeks  and  have  a  "  try 
at  the  tarpon,"  as  you  put  it.  I  don't 
really  need  a  tarpon,  or  want  a  tarpon, 
and  I  don't  know  what  I  could  do  with  a 
tarpon  if  I  hooked  one,  except  to  yell  at 
him  to  go  away ;  but  I  need  a  burned  neck 
and  a  peeled  nose,  a  little  more  zest  for 
my  food,  and  a  little  more  zip  about  my 
225 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

work,  if  the  interests  of  the  American 
hog  are  going  to  be  safe  in  my  hands  this 
spring.  I  don't  seem  to  have  so  much 
luck  as  some  fellows  in  hooking  these 
fifty-pound  fish  lies,  but  I  always  manage 
to  land  a  pretty  heavy  appetite  and  some 
big  nights'  sleep  when  I  strike  salt  water 
Then  I  can  go  back  to  the  office  anc 
produce  results  like  a  hen  in  April  with 
eggs  at  eleven  cents  a  dozen. 

Health  is  like  any  inheritance — you 
can  spend  the  interest  in  work  and  play 
but  you  mustn't  break  into  the  principal 
Once  you  do,  and  it's  only  a  matter  o: 
time  before  you've  got  to  place  the 
remnants  in  the  hands  of  a  doctor  as 
receiver ;  and  receivers  are  mighty  partia 
to  fees  and  mighty  slow  to  let  go.  But 
if  you  don't  work  with  him  to  get  the 
business  back  on  a  sound  basis  there's 
no  such  thing  as  any  further  voluntary 
proceedings,  and  the  remnants  become 
remains. 

It's  a  mighty  simple  thing,  though,  to 
226 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

keep  in  good  condition,  because  about 
everything  that  makes  for  poor  health 
has  to  get  into  you  right  under  your  nose. 
Yet  a  fellow'll  load  up  with  pie  and  buck- 
wheats for  breakfast  and  go  around 
wondering  about  his  stomach-ache,  as  if 
it  were  a  put-up  job  that  had  been  played 
on  him  when  he  wasn't  looking;  or  he'll 
go  through  his  dinner  pickling  each 
course  in  a  different  brand  of  alcohol,  and 
sob  out  on  the  butler's  shoulder  that 
the  booze  isn't  as  pure  as  it  used  to  be 
when  he  was  a  boy;  or  he'll  come  home 
at  midnight  singing  "The  Old  Oaken 
Bucket,"  and  act  generally  as  if  all  the 
water  in  the  world  were  in  the  well  on 
the  old  homestead,  and  the  mortgage  on 
that  had  been  foreclosed;  or  from  8  P.  M. 
to  3  G.  x.  he'll  sit  in  a  small  game  with 
a  large  cigar,  breathing  a  blend  of  light- 
blue  cigarette  smoke  and  dark-blue  cuss- 
words,  and  next  day,  when  his  heart 
beats  four  and  skips  two,  and  he  has 
that  queer,  hopping  sensation  in  the 
227 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

knees,  he'll  complain  bitterly  to  th< 
other  clerks  that  this  confining  offic< 
work  is  killing  him. 

Of  course,  with  all  the  care  in  th( 
world,  a  fellow's  likely  to  catch  things, 
but  there's  no  sense  in  sending  out  invita- 
tions to  a  lot  of  miscellaneous  micro! 
and  pretending  when  they  call  that  it's 
a  surprise  party.  Bad  health  hates  a 
man  who  is  friendly  with  its  enemies- 
hard  work,  plain  food,  and  pure  air. 
More  men  die  from  worry  than  from  over- 
work; more  stuff  themselves  to  death  thai 
die  of  starvation;  more  break  their  necks 
falling  down  the  cellar  stairs  than  climb- 
ing mountains.  If  the  human  animal 
reposed  less  confidence  in  his  stomad 
and  more  in  his  legs,  the  streets  would 
full  of  healthy  men  walking  down  t< 
business.  Remember  that  a  man  alwa; 
rides  to  his  grave;  he  never  walks  then 

When  I   was  a  boy,   the  only  doubl 

about  the  food  was  whether  there  woul< 

be  enough  of  it;  and  there  wasn't  an; 

228 


and  sob  out  on  the  butler's  shoulder 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

doubt  at  all  about  the  religion.  If  the 
pork  barrel  was  full,  father  read  a 
couple  of  extra  Psalms  at  morning 
I  prayers,  to  express  our  thankfulness; 
and  if  it  was  empty,  he  dipped  into 
Job  for  half  an  hour  at  evening  prayers, 
to  prove  that  we  were  better  off  than 
some  folks.  But  you  don't  know  what 
to  eat  these  days,  with  one  set  of  people 
saying  that  only  beasts  eat  meat,  and 
another  that  only  cattle  eat  grain  and 
green  stuff;  or  what  to  believe,  with  one 
crowd  claiming  that  there's  nothing  the 
matter  with  us,  as  the  only  matter  that 
we've  got  is  in  our  minds;  and  another 
crowd  telling  us  not  to  mind  what  the 
others  say,  because  they've  got  something 
the  matter  with  their  minds.  I  reckon 
that  what  this  .generation  really  needs 
is  a  little  less  pie  and  a  little  more  piety. 
I  dwell  on  this  matter  of  health, 
because  when  tht  stomach  and  liver  ain't 
doing  good  work,  the  brain  can't.  A 
good  many  men  will  say  that  it's  none 
229 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

of  your  business  what  they  do  in  theii 
own  time,  but  you  want  to  make  it  youi 
business,  so  long  as  it  affects  what  the> 
do  in  your  time.  For  this  reason,  you 
should  never  hire  men  who  drink  aftei 
office  hours;  for  it's  their  time  that  get. 
the  effects,  and  your  time  that  gets  th< 
after-effects.  Even  if  a  boss  grants  thai 
there's  fun  in  drinking,  it  shouldn't  tak< 
him  long  to  discover  that  he's  getting  th< 
short  end  of  it,  when  all  the  clerks  can 
share  with  him  in  the  morning  is  th< 
head  and  the  hangover. 

I  might  add  that  I  don't  like  the  effects 
of  drinking  any  more  than  the  after 
effects;  and  for  this  reason  you  shoulc 
never  hire  men  who  drink  during  business 
hours.  When  a  fellow  adds  up  on  whisky 
he's  apt  to  see  too  many  figures ;  and  when 
he  subtracts  on  beer,  he's  apt  to  see  too 
few. 

It  may  have  been  tlie  case  once  that 
when  you  opened  up  a  bottle  for  a  cus- 
tomer he  opened  up  his  heart,  but  booze 
230 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

is  a  mighty  poor  salesman  nowadays.  It 
takes  more  than  a  corkscrew  to  draw  out 
a  merchant's  order.  Most  of  the  men 
who  mixed  their  business  and  their 
drinks  have  failed,  and  the  new  owners 
take  their  business  straight.  Of  course, 
some  one  has  to  pay  for  the  drinks  that  a 
drummer  sets  up.  The  drummer  can't 
afford  it  on  his  salary;  the  house  isn't 
really  in  the  hospitality  business;  so,  in 
the  end,  the  buyer  always  stands  treat. 
He  may  not  see  it  in  his  bill  for  goods, 
but  it's  there,  and  the  smart  ones  have 
caught  on  to  it. 

After  office  hours,  the  number  of  drinks 
a  fellow  takes  may  make  a  difference  in 
the  result  to  his  employer,  but  during 
business  hours  the  effect  of  one  is  usually 
as  bad  as  half  a  dozen.  A  buyer  who 
drinks  hates  a  whisky  breath  when  he 
hasn't  got  one  himself,  and  a  fellow  who 
doesn't  drink  never  bothers  to  discover 
whether  he's  being  talked  to  by  a  simple 
or  a  compound  breath.  He  knows  that 
231 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

some  men  who  drink  are  unreliable,  anc 
that  unreliable  men  are  apt  to  represenl 
unreliable  houses  and  to  sell  unreliable 
goods,  and  he  hasn't  the  time  or  the 
inclination  to  stop  and  find  out  that  this 
particular  salesman  has  simply  had  a 
mild  snort  as  an  appetizer  and  a  gentle 
soother  as  a  digester.  So  he  doesn'^ 
get  an  order,  and  the  house  gets  a  black 
eye.  This  is  a  very,  very  busy  world,  anc 
about  the  only  person  who  is  really 
interested  in  knowing  just  how  many 
a  fellow  has  had  is  his  wife,  and  she 
won't  always  believe  him. 

Naturally,  when  you  expect  so  much 
from  your  men,  they  have  a  right  to 
expect  a  good  deal  from  you.  If  you 
want  them  to  feel  that  your  interests  are 
theirs,  you  must  let  them  see  that  their 
interests  are  yours.  There  are  a  lot  o: 
fellows  in  the  world  who  are  working 
just  for  glory,  but  they  are  mostly  poets 
and  you  needn't  figure  on  finding  many 
of  them  out  at  the  Stock  Yards.  Praise 
232 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

goes  a  long  way  with  a  good  man,  and 
some  employers  stop  there ;  but  cash  goes 
the  whole  distance,  and  if  you  want  to 
keep  your  growing  men  with  you,  you 
mustn't  expect  them  to  do  all  the  growing. 
Small  salaries  make  slow  workers  and 
careless  clerks;  because  it  isn't  hard  to 
get  an  underpaid  job.  But  a  well-paid 
man  sticketh  closer  than  a  little  brother- 
in-law-to-be  to  the  fellow  who  brings  the 
candy.  For  this  reason,  when  I  close 
the  books  at  the  end  of  the  year,  I  always 
give  every  one,  from  the  errand  boys  up,  a 
bonus  based  on  the  size  of  his  salary 
and  my  profits.  There's  no  way  I've 
ever  tried  that  makes  my  men  take  an 
interest  in  the  size  of  my  profits  like 
giving  them  a  share.  And  there's  no 
advertisement  for  a  house  like  having 
its  men  going  around  blowing  and  brag- 
ging because  they're  working  for  it. 

Again,    if   you   insist   that   your   men 
shan't  violate  the  early-closing  ordinance, 
you  must  observe  one  yourself.     A  man 
233 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

who  works  only  half  a  day  Saturday  can 
usually  do  a  day  and  half's  work  Monday. 
I'd  rather  have  my  men  hump  them- 
selves for  nine  hours  than  dawdle  for 
ten. 

Of  course,  the  world  is  full  of  horses 
who  won't  work  except  with  the  whip, 
but  that's  no  reason  for  using  it  on  those 
who  will.  When  I  get  a  critter  that  hogs 
my  good  oats  and  then  won't  show  them 
in  his  gait,  I  get  rid  of  him.  He  may 
be  all  right  for  a  fellow  who's  doing  a 
peddling  business,  but  I  need  a  little 
more  speed  and  spirit  in  mine. 

A  lot  of  people  think  that  adversity 
and  bad  treatment  is  the  test  of  a  man, 
and  it  is — when  you  want  to  develop  his 
strength;  but  prosperity  and  good  treat- 
ment is  a  better  one  when  you  want  to 
develop  his  weakness.  By  keeping  those 
who  show  their  appreciation  of  it  and 
firing  those  who  don't,  you  get  an  office 
full  of  cracker  jacks. 

While  your  men  must  feel  all  the  time 
234 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

that  they've  got  a  boss  who  can  see  good 
work  around  a  corner,  they  mustn't  be 
allowed  to  forget  that  there's  no  private 
burying-ground  on  the  premises  for  mis- 
takes. When  a  Western  town  loses  one 
of  its  prominent  citizens  through  some 
careless  young  fellow's  letting  his  gun  go 
off  sudden,  if  the  sheriff  buys  a  little  rope 
and  sends  out  invitations  to  an  inquest, 
it's  apt  to  make  the  boys  more  reserved 
about  exchanging  repartee;  and  if  you 
pull  up  your  men  sharp  when  you  find 
them  shooting  off  their  mouths  to  cus- 
tomers and  getting  gay  in  their  corre- 
spondence, it's  sure  to  cut  down  the 
mortality  among  our  old  friends  in  the 
trade.  A  clerk's  never  fresh  in  letters 
that  the  boss  is  going  to  see. 

The  men  who  stay  in  the  office  and 
plan  are  the  brains  of  your  business; 
those  who  go  out  and  sell  are  its  arms; 
and  those  who  fill  and  deliver  the  orders 
are  its  legs.  There's  no  use  in  the  brains 
scheming  and  the  arms  gathering  in,  if 

235 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

the  legs  are  going  to  deliver  the  goods 
with  a  kick. 

That's  another  reason  why  it's  very 
important  for  you  to  be  in  the  office 
early.  You  can't  personally  see  every 
order  filled,  and  tell  whether  it  was 
shipped  promptly  and  the  right  goods 
sent,  but  when  the  telegrams  and  letters 
are  opened,  you  can  have  all  the  kicks 
sorted  out,  and  run  through  them  before 
they're  distributed  for  the  day.  That's 
where  you'll  meet  the  clerk  who  billed 
a  tierce  of  hams  to  the  man  who  ordered 
a  box;  the  shipper  who  mislaid  Bill 
Smith's  order  for  lard,  and  made  Bill 
lose  his  Saturday's  trade  through  the 
delay;  the  department  head  who  felt 
a  little  peevish  one  morning  and  so  wrote 
Hardin  &  Co.,  who  buy  in  car-lots,  that 
if  they  didn't  like  the  smoke  of  the  last 
car  of  Bacon  Short  Clears  they  could 
lump  it,  or  words  to  that  effect;  and 
that's  where  you'll  meet  the  salesman 
who  played  a  sure  thing  on  the  New 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

Orleans  track  and  needs  twenty  to  get  to 
the  next  town,  where  his  check  is  waiting. 
Then,  a  little  later,  when  you  make  the 
rounds  of  the  different  departments  to 
find  out  how  it  happened,  the  heads  will 
tell  you  all  the  good  news  that  was  in 
the  morning's  mail. 

Of  course,  you  can  keep  track  of  your 
men  in  a  sneaking  way  that  will  make 
them  despise  you,  and  talk  to  them  in  a 
nagging  spirit  that  will  make  them 
bristle  when  they  see  you.  But  it's 
your  right  to  know  and  your  business  to 
find  out,  and  if  you  collect  your  informa- 
tion in  an  open,  frank  manner,  going  at 
it  in  the  spirit  of  hoping  to  find  every- 
thing all  right,  instead  of  wanting  to 
find  something  all  wrong;  and  if  you  talk 
to  the  responsible  man  with  an  air  of 
"here's  a  place  where  we  can  get  together 
and  correct  a  weakness  in  our  business  " 
—not  my  business — instead  of  with  an 
"Ah!  ha!  I've-found-you-out "  expres- 
sion, your  men  will  throw  handsprings  for 
237 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

your  good  opinion.  Never  nag  a  man 
under  any  circumstances;  fire  him. 

A  good  boss,  in  these  days  when 
profits  are  pared  down  to  the  quick, 
can't  afford  to  have  any  holes,  no  matter 
how  small,  in  his  management;  but  there 
must  be  give  enough  in  his  seams  so 
that  every  time  he  stoops  down  to  pick 
up  a  penny  he  won't  split  his  pants. 
He  must  know  how  to  be  big,  as  well  as 
how  to  be  small. 

Some  years  ago,  I  knew  a  firm  who 
did  business  under  the  name  of  Foreman 
&  Sowers.  They  were  a  regular  business 
vaudeville  team — one  big  and  broad- 
gauged  in  all  his  ideas;  the  other  unable 
to  think  in  anything  but  boys'  and 
misses'  sizes.  Foreman  believed  that 
men  got  rich  in  dollars;  Sowers  in  cents. 
Of  course,  you  can  do  it  in  either  way, 
but  the  first  needs  brains  and  the  second 
only  hands.  It's  been  my  experience 
that  the  best  way  is  to  go  after  both  the 
dollars  and  the  cents. 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

Well,  sir,  these  fellows  launched  a 
specialty,  a  mighty  good  thing,  the 
Peep  o'  Daisy  Breakfast  Food,  and 
started  in  to  advertise.  Sowers  wanted 
to  use  inch  space  and  sell  single  cases; 
Foreman  kicked  because  full  pages 
weren't  bigger  and  wanted  to  sell  in 
car-lots,  leaving  the  case  trade  to  the 
jobbers.  Sowers  only  half -believed  in 
himself,  and  only  a  quarter  in  the  food, 
and  only  an  eighth  in  advertising.  So 
he  used  to  go  home  nights  and  lie  awake 
with  a  living-picture  exhibit  of  himself 
being  kicked  out  of  his  store  by  the 
sheriff;  and  out  of  his  house  by  the  land- 
lord; and,  finally,  off  the  corner  where 
he  was  standing  with  his  hat  out  for 
pennies,  by  the  policeman.  He  hadn't 
a  big  enough  imagination  even  to  intro- 
duce into  this  last  picture  a  sport  drop- 
ping a  dollar  bill  into  his  hat.  But  Fore- 
man had  a  pretty  good  opinion  of  himself, 
and  a  mighty  big  opinion  of  the  food,  and 
he  believed  that  a  clever,  well-knit  ad. 
239 


OLD   GORGON    GRAHAM'S 

was  strong  enough  to  draw  teeth.  So 
he  would  go  home  and  build  steam-yachts 
and  country  places  in  his  sleep. 

Naturally,  the  next  morning,  Sowers 
would  come  down  haggard  and  gloomy, 
and  grow  gloomier  as  he  went  deeper  into 
the  mail  and  saw  how  small  the  orders 
were.  But  Foreman  would  start  out  as 
brisk  and  busy  as  a  humming-bird,  tap 
the  advertising  agent  for  a  new  line  of 
credit  on  his  way  down  to  the  office,  and 
extract  honey  and  hope  from  every 
letter. 

Sowers  begged  him,  day  by  day,  to 
stop  the  useless  fight  and  save  the 
remains  of  their  business.  But  Foreman 
simply  laughed.  Said  there  wouldn't 
be  any  remains  when  he  was  ready  to 
quit.  Allowed  that  he  believed  in  crema- 
tion, anyway,  and  that  the  only  way 
to  fix  a  brand  on  the  mind  of  the  people 
was  to  burn  it  in  with  money. 

Sowers  worried  along  a  few  days  more, 
and  then  one  night,  after  he  had  been 
240 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

buried  in  the  potter's  field,  he  planned  a 
final  stroke  to  stop  Foreman,  who,  he 
believed,  didn't  know  just  how  deep  in 
they  really  were.  Foreman  was  in  a 
particular  jolly  mood  the  next  morning, 
for  he  had  spent  the  night  bidding  against 
Pierrepont  Morgan  at  an  auction  sale  of 
old  masters;  but  he  listened  patiently 
while  Sowers  called  off  the  figures  in  a  sort 
of  dirge-like  singsong,  and  until  he  had 
wailed  out  his  final  note  of  despair,  a 
bass-drum  crash,  which  he  thought  would 
bring  Foreman  to  a  realizing  sense  of 
their  loss,  so  to  speak. 

"That,"  Sowers  wound  up,  "makes  a 
grand  total  of  $800,000  that  we  have 
already  lost." 

Foreman's  head  drooped,  and  for  a 
moment  he  was  deep  in  thought,  while 
Sowers  stood  over  him,  sad,  but  triumph- 
ant, in  the  feeling  that  he  had  at  last 
brought  this  madman  to  his  senses,  now 
that  his  dollars  were  gone. 

"  Eight  hundred  thou ! "  the  senior 
241 


OLD   GORGON    GRAHAM'S 

partner  repeated  mechanically.  Then, 
looking  up  with  a  bright  smile,  he  ex- 
claimed: "Why,  old  man,  that  leaves 
us  two  hundred  thousand  still  to  spend 
before  we  hit  the  million  mark  ! " 

They  say  that  Sowers  could  only 
gibber  back  at  him;  and  Foreman  kept 
right  on  and  managed  some  way  to 
float  himself  on  to  the  million  mark. 
There  the  tide  turned,  and  after  all  these 
years  it's  still  running  his  way;  and 
Sowers,  against  his  better  judgment,  is  a 
millionaire. 

I  simply  mention  Foreman  in  passing. 
It  would  be  all  foolishness  to  follow  his 
course  in  a  good  many  situations,  but 
there's  a  time  to  hold  on  and  a  time  to 
let  go,  and  the  limit,  and  a  little  beyond, 
is  none  too  far  to  play  a  really  good 
thing.  But  in  business  it's  quite  as 
important  to  know  how  to  be  a  good 
quitter  as  a  good  fighter.  Even  when 
you  feel  that  you've  got  a  good  thing, 
you  want  to  make  sure  that  it's  good 
242 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

enough,  and  that  you're  good  enough, 
before  you  ask  to  have  the  limit  taken 
off.  A  lot  of  men  who  play  a  nice  game  of 
authors  get  their  feelings  hurt  at  whist, 
and  get  it  in  the  neck  at  poker. 

You  want  to  have  the  same  principle 
in  mind  when  you're  handling  the  trade. 
Sometimes  you'll  have  to  lay  down  even 
when  you  feel  that  your  case  is  strong. 
Often  you'll  have  to  yield  a  point  or  allow 
a  claim  when  you  know  you're  dead 
right  and  the  other  fellow  all  wrong. 
But  there's  no  sense  in  getting  a  licking 
on  top  of  a  grievance. 

Another  thing  that  helps  you  keep 
track  of  your  men  is  the  habit  of  asking 
questions.  Your  thirst  for  information 
must  fairly  make  your  tongue  loll  out. 
When  you  ask  the  head  of  the  canning 
department  what  we're  netting  for  two- 
pound  Corned  Beef  on  the  day's  market 
for  canners,  and  he  has  to  say,  "Wait  a 
minute  and  I'll  figure  it  out,"  or  turn  to 
one  of  his  boys  and  ask,  "  Bill,  what  are 

243 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

twos  netting  us?"  he  isn't  sitting  close 
enough  to  his  job,  and,  perhaps,  if  Bill 
were  in  his  chair,  he'd  be  holding  it  in  his 
lap;  or  when  you  ask  the  chief  engineer 
how  much  coal  we  burned  this  month, 
as  compared  with  last,  and  why  in 
thunder  we  burned  it,  if  he  has  to  hern 
and  haw  and  say  he  hasn't  had  time  to 
figure  it  out  yet,  but  he  thinks  they 
were  running  both  benches  in  the  packing 
house  most  of  the  time,  and  he  guesses 
this  and  reckons  that,  he  needs  to  get 
up  a  little  more  steam  himself.  In  short, 
whenever  you  find  a  fellow  that  ought 
to  know  every  minute  where  he's  at, 
but  who  doesn't  know  what's  what, 
he's  pretty  likely  to  be  It.  When  you're 
dealing  with  an  animal  like  the  American 
hog,  that  carries  all  its  profit  in  the 
tip  of  its  tail,  you  want  to  make  sure 
that  your  men  carry  all  the  latest  news 
about  it  on  the  tip  of  the  tongue. 

It's  not  a  bad  plan,  once  in  a  while,  to 

check  up  the  facts  and  figures  that  are 

244 


LETTERS  TO   HIS   SON 

given  you.  I  remember  one  lightning 
calculator  I  had  working  for  me,  who 
would  catch  my  questions  hot  from  the 
bat,  and  fire  back  the  answers  before  I 
could  get  into  position  to  catch.  Was  a 
mighty  particular  cuss.  Always  worked 
everything  out  to  the  sixth  decimal  place. 
I  had  just  about  concluded  he  ought  to 
have  a  wider  field  for  his  talents,  when 
I  asked  him  one  day  how  the  hams  of  the 
last  week's  run  had  been  averaging  in 
weight.  Answered  like  a  streak;  but  it 
struck  me  that  for  hogs  which  had  been 
running  so  light  they  were  giving  up 
pretty  generously.  So  I  checked  up  his 
figures  and  found  'em  all  wrong.  Tried 
him  with  a  different  question  every  day 
for  a  week.  Always  answered  quick, 
and  always  answered  wrong.  Found 
that  he  was  a  base-ball  rooter  and  had 
been  handing  out  the  batting  averages 
of  the  Chicagos  for  his  answers.  Seems 
that  when  I  used  to  see  him  busy  figuring 
with  his  pencil  he  was  working  out  where 
245 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

Anson  stood  on  the  list.  He's  not  in 
Who's  Who  in  the  Stock  Yards  any 
more,  you  bet. 

Your   affectionate    father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 


246 


No.  12 


FROM    John    Graham, 
at  Magnolia  Villa,  on 
the  Florida  Coast,  to 
his  son,  Pierrepont,    at  the 
Union    Stock    Yards,    Chi- 
cago.    The    old    man    has 
started  back  to  Nature,  but 
he    hasn't    gone    quite   far 
enough  to  lose  sight  of  his 
business  altogether. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

XII 

MAGNOLIA  VILLA,  February  5,  1900. 

Dear  Pierre pont:  Last  week  I  started 
back  to  Nature,  as  you  advised,  but  at 
the  Ocean  High  Roller  House  I  found 
that  I  had  to  wear  knee-breeches,  which 
was  getting  back  too  far,  or  creases  in 
my  trousers,  which  wasn't  far  enough. 
So  we've  taken  this  little  place,  where 
there's  nothing  between  me  and  Nature 
but  a  blue  shirt  and  an  old  pair  of 
pants,  and  I  reckon  that's  near  enough. 
I'm  getting  a  complexion  and  your 
ma's  losing  hers.  Hadn't  anything  with 
her  but  some  bonnets,  so  just  before 
we  left  the  hotel  she  went  into  a  little 
branch  store,  which  a  New  York  milliner 
runs  there,  and  tried  to  buy  a  shade  hat. 
249 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

"  How  would  this  pretty  little  shep- 
herdess effect  do  ? "  asked  the  girl  who 
was  showing  the  goods,  while  she  sized 
me  up  to  see  if  the  weight  of  my  pocket- 
book  made  my  coat  sag. 

"  How  much  is  it  ? "  asked  your  ma. 

11  Fifty  dollars,"  said  the  girl,  as  bright 
and  sassy  as  you  please. 

"I'm  not  such  a  simple  little  shep- 
herdess as  that,"  answered  your  ma, 
just  a  little  brighter  and  a  little  sassier, 
and  she's  going  around  bareheaded.  She's 
doing  the  cooking  and  making  the  beds, 
because  the  white  girls  from  the  North 
are'nt  willing  to  do  "  both  of  them  works," 
and  the  native  niggers  don't  seem  to  care 
a  great  deal  about  doing  any  work.  And 
I'm  splitting  the  wood  for  the  kitchen 
stove,  and  an  occasional  fish  that  has 
committed  suicide.  This  morning,  when 
I  was  casting  through  the  surf,  a  good- 
sized  drum  chased  me  up  on  shore,  and 
he's  now  the  star  performer  in  a  chowder 
that  your  ma  has  billed  for  dinner. 
250 


LETTERS  TO   HIS  SON 

They  call  this  place  a  villa,  though 
it's  really  a  villainy;  and  what  I  pay  for 
it  rent,  though  it's  actually  a  robbery. 
But  they  can  have  the  last  bill  in  the  roll 
if  they'll  leave  me  your  ma,  and  my 
appetite,  and  that  tired  feeling  at  night. 
It's  the  bullies t  time  we've  had  since  the 
spring  we  moved  into  our  first  little 
cottage  back  in  Missouri,  and  raised 
climbing-roses  and  our  pet  pig,  Toby. 
It's  good  to  have  money  and  the  things 
that  money  will  buy,  but  it's  good,  too, 
to  check  up  once  in  a  while  and  make 
sure  you  haven't  lost  the  things  that 
money  won't  buy.  When  a  fellow's 
got  what  he  set  out  for  in  this  world,  he 
should  go  off  into  the  woods  for  a  few 
weeks  now  and  then  to  make  sure  that 
he's  still  a  man,  and  not  a  plug-hat  and 
a  frock-coat  and  a  wad  of  bills. 

You  can't  do  the  biggest  things  in  this 
world  unless  you  can  handle  men;  and 
you  can't  handle  men  if  you're  not  in 
sympathy  with  them;  and  sympathy 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

begins  in  humility.  I  don't  mean  the 
humility  that  crawls  for  a  nickel  in  the 
street  and  cringes  for  a  thousand  in  the 
office;  but  the  humility  that  a  man 
finds  when  he  goes  gunning  in  the 
woods  for  the  truth  about  himself.  It's 
the  sort  of  humility  that  makes  a  fellow 
proud  of  a  chance  to  work  in  the  world, 
and  want  to  be  a  square  merchant,  or  a 
good  doctor,  or  an  honest  lawyer,  before 
he's  a  rich  one.  It  makes  him  under- 
stand that  while  life  is  full  of  opportunities 
for  him,  it's  full  of  responsibilities  toward 
the  other  fellow,  too. 

That  doesn't  mean  that  you  ought  to 
coddle  idleness,  or  to  be  slack  with 
viciousness,  or  even  to  carry  on  the  pay- 
roll well-meaning  incompetence.  For  a 
fellow  who  mixes  business  and  charity 
soon  finds  that  he  can't  make  any  money 
to  give  to  charity ;  and  in  the  end,  instead 
of  having  helped  others,  he's  only  added 
himself  to  the  burden  of  others.  The 
kind  of  sympathy  I  mean  holds  up  men 
252 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

to  the  bull-ring  without  forgetting  in  its 
own  success  the  hardships  and  struggles 
and  temptations  of  the  fellow  who  hasn't 
got  there  yet,  but  is  honestly  trying  to. 
There's  more  practical  philanthropy  in 
keeping  close  to  these  men  and  speaking 
the  word  that  they  need,  or  giving  them 
the  shove  that  they  deserve,  than  in 
building  an  eighteen-hole  golf  course 
around  the  Stock  Yards  for  them.  Your 
force  can  always  find  plenty  of  reasons  for 
striking,  without  your  furnishing  an 
extra  one  in  the  poor  quality  of  the  golf- 
balls  that  you  give  them.  So  I  make  it  a 
rule  that  everything  I  hand  out  to  my 
men  shall  come  in  the  course  of  business, 
and  be  given  on  a  business  basis.  When 
profits  are  large,  they  get  a  large  bonus 
and  a  short  explanation  of  the  business 
reasons  in  the  office  and  the  country  that 
have  helped  them  to  earn  it;  when 
profits  are  small,  the  bonus  shrinks  and 
the  explanation  expands.  I  sell  the  men 
their  meats  and  give  them  their  meals 
253 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

in  the  house  restaurant  at  cost,  but 
nothing  changes  hands  between  us  except 
in  exchange  for  work  or  cash. 

If  you  want  a  practical  illustration  of 
how  giving  something  for  nothing  works, 
pick  out  some  one  who  has  no  real 
claim  on  you — an  old  college  friend 
who's  too  strong  to  work,  or  a  sixteenth 
cousin  who's  missed  connections  with  the 
express  to  Fortune — and  say:  " You're 
a  pretty  good  fellow,  and  I  want  to  help 
you;  after  this  I'm  going  to  send  you  a 
hundred  dollars  the  first  of  every  month, 
until  you've  made  a  new  start."  He'll 
fairly  sicken  you  with  his  thanks  for  that 
first  hundred;  he'll  call  you  his  generous 
benefactor  over  three  or  four  pages  for  the 
second;  he'll  send  you  a  nice  little  half- 
page  note  of  thanks  for  the  third;  he'll 
write,  "  Yours  of  the  first  with  inclosure 
to  hand — thanks,"  for  the  fourth;  he'll 
forget  to  acknowledge  the  fifth;  and 
when  the  sixth  doesn't  come  promptly, 
he'll  wire  collect:  "Why  this  delay  in 
254 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

sending  my  check — mail  at  once."  And 
all  the  time  he  won't  have  stirred  a  step 
in  the  direction  of  work,  because  he'll 
have  reasoned,  either  consciously  or  un- 
consciously: "  I  can't  get  a  job  that  will 
pay  me  more  than  a  hundred  a  month  to 
start  with;  but  I'm  already  drawing  a 
hundred  without  working;  so  what's  the 
use?"  But  when  a  fellow  can't  get  a 
free  pass,  and  he  has  any  sort  of  stuff  in 
him,  except  what  hoboes  are  made 
of,  he'll  usually  hustle  for  his  car  fare, 
rather  than  ride  through  life  on  the 
bumpers  of  a  freight. 

The  only  favor  that  a  good  man 
needs  is  an  opportunity  to  do  the  best 
work  that's  in  him;  and  that's  the  only 
present  you  can  make  him  once  a  week 
that  will  be  a  help  instead  of  a  hindrance 
to  him.  It's  been  my  experience  that 
every  man  has  in  him  the  possibility  of 
doing  well  some  one  thing,  no  matter  how 
humble,  and  that  there's  some  one,  in 
some  place,  who  wants  that  special  thing 
255 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

done.  The  difference  between  a  fellow 
who  succeeds  and  one  who  fails  is  that 
the  first  gets  out  and  chases  after  the 
man  who  needs  him,  and  the  second  sits 
around  waiting  to  be  hunted  up. 

When  I  was  a  boy,  we  were  brought 
up  to  believe  that  we  were  born  black 
with  original  sin,  and  that  we  bleachec 
out  a  little  under  old  Doc  Hoover's 
preaching.  And  in  the  church  down 
Main  Street  they  taught  that  a  lot  of  us 
were  predestined  to  be  damned,  and  a 
few  of  us  to  be  saved;  and  naturally  we 
all  had  our  favorite  selections  for  the 
first  bunch.  I  used  to  accept  the  doctrine 
of  predestination  for  a  couple  of  weeks 
every  year,  just  before  the  Main  Streel 
church  held  its  Sunday-school  picnic 
and  there  are  a  few  old  rascals  in  the 
Stock  Yards  that  make  me  lean  toward  i1 
sometimes  now;  but,  in  the  main, 
believe  that  most  people  start  out  with 
a  plenty  of  original  goodness. 

The  more  I  deal  in  it,  the  surer  I  am 
256 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

that  human  nature  is  all  off  the  same 
critter,  but  that  there's  a  heap  of  choice  in 
the  cuts.  Even  then  a  bad  cook  will 
spoil  a  four-pound  porterhouse,  where  a 
good  one  will  take  a  chuck  steak,  make 
a  few  passes  over  it  with  seasoning  and 
fixings,  and  serve  something  that  will 
line  your  insides  with  happiness.  Cir- 
cumstances don't  make  men,  but  they 
shape  them,  and  you  want  to  see  that 
those  under  you  are  furnished  with  the 
right  set  of  circumstances. 

Every  fellow  is  really  two  men — what 
he  is  and  what  he  might  be;  and  you're 
never  absolutely  sure  which  you're  going 
to  bury  till  he's  dead.  But  a  man  in 
your  position  can  do  a  whole  lot  toward 
furnishing  the  officiating  clergyman  with 
beautiful  examples,  instead  of  horrible 
warnings.  The  great  secret  of  good 
management  is  to  be  more  alert  to  prevent 
a  man's  going  wrong  than  eager  to  punish 
him  for  it.  That's  why  I  centre  authority 
and  distribute  checks  upon  it.  That's 
257 


OLD    GORGON    GRAHAM'S 

why  I've  never  had  any  Honest  Old 
Toms,  or  Good  Old  Dicks,  or  Faithful 
Old  Harrys  handling  my  good  money 
week-days  and  presiding  over  the  Sabbath- 
school  Sundays  for  twenty  years,  and 
leaving  the  old  man  short  a  hundred 
thousand,  and  the  little  ones  short  a 
superintendent,  during  the  twenty-first 
year. 

It's  right  to  punish  these  fellows,  but 
a  suit  for  damages  ought  to  lie  against 
their  employers.  Criminal  carelessness 
is  a  bad  thing,  but  the  carelessness  that 
makes  criminals  is  worse.  The  chances 
are  that,  to  start  with,  Tom  and  Dick 
were  honest  and  good  at  the  office  and 
sincere  at  the  Sunday-school,  and  that, 
given  the  right  circumstances,  they  would 
have  stayed  so.  It  was  their  employers' 
business  to  see  that  they  were  surrounded 
by  the  right  circumstances  at  the  office 
and  to  find  out  whether  they  surrounded 
themselves  with  them  at  home. 

A  man  who's  fundamentally  honest  is 

258 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

relieved  instead  of  aggrieved  by  having 
proper  checks  on  his  handling  of  funds. 
And  the  bigger  the  man's  position  and 
the  amount  that  he  handles,  the  more 
important  this  is.  A  minor  employee 
can  take  only  minor  sums,  and  the 
principal  harm  done  is  to  himself;  but 
when  a  big  fellow  gets  into  you,  it's  for 
something  big,  and  more  is  hurt  than  his 
morals  and  your  feelings. 

I  dwell  a  little  on  these  matters,  because 
I  want  to  fix  it  firmly  in  your  mind  that 
the  man  who  pays  the  wages  must  put 
more  in  the  weekly  envelope  than  money, 
if  he  wants  to  get  his  full  money's  worth. 
I've  said  a  good  deal  about  the  im- 
portance of  little  things  to  a  boss;  don't 
forget  their  importance  to  your  men.  A 
thousand-dollar  clerk  doesn't  think  with 
a  ten-thousand-dollar  head;  a  fellow 
whose  view  is  shut  in  by  a  set  of  ledgers 
can't  see  very  far,  and  so  stampedes 
easier  than  one  whose  range  is  the  whole 
shop;  a  brain  that  can't  originate  big 

259 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

things  can't  forget  trifles  so  quick  as  one 
in  which  the  new  ideas  keep  crowding  ou1 
the  old  annoyances.  Ten  thousand  a 
year  will  sweeten  a  multitude  of  things 
that  don't  taste  pleasant,  but  there's 
not  so  much  sugar  in  a  thousand  to  help 
them  down.  The  sting  of  some  little 
word  or  action  that  wouldn't  get  under 
your  skin  at  all,  is  apt  to  swell  up  one  oi 
these  fellows'  bump  of  self-esteem  as  big 
as  an  egg-plant,  and  make  it  sore  all  over 

It's  always  been  my  policy  to  give  a 
little  extra  courtesy  and  consideration 
to  the  men  who  hold  the  places  that  don'1 
draw  the  extra  good  salaries.  It's  just 
as  important  to  the  house  that  they 
should  feel  happy  and  satisfied  as  the  big 
fellows.  And  no  man  who's  doing  his 
work  well  is  too  small  for  a  friendly  wore 
and  a  pat  on  the  back,  and  no  fellow 
who's  doing  his  work  poorly  is  too  big 
for  a  jolt  that  will  knock  the  nonsense 
out  of  him. 

You  can't  afford  to  give  your  men  a 
260 


LETTERS  TO   HIS  SON 

real  grievance,  no  matter  how  small  it  is ; 
for  a  man  who's  got  nothing  to  occupy 
him  but  his  work  can  accomplish  twice 
as  much  as  one  who's  busy  with  his  work 
and  a  grievance.  The  average  man  will 
leave  terrapin  and  champagne  in  a  minute 
to  chew  over  the  luxury  of  feeling  abused. 
Even  when  a  man  isn't  satisfied  with 
the  supply  of  real  grievances  which  life 
affords,  and  goes  off  hunting  up  imaginary 
ones,  like  a  blame  old  gormandizing 
French  hog  that  leaves  a  full  trough  to 
root  through  the  woods  for  truffles,  you 
still  want  to  be  polite;  for  when  you 
fire  a  man  there's  no  good  reason  for 
doing  it  with  a  yell. 

Noise  isn't  authority,  and  there's  no 
sense  in  ripping  and  roaring  and  cussing 
around  the  office  when  things  don't 
please  you.  For  when  a  fellow's  given 
to  that,  his  men  secretly  won't  care  a 
cuss  whether  he's  pleased  or  not.  They'll 
jump  when  he  speaks,  because  they  value 
their  heads,  not  his  good  opinion.  Indis- 
261 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

criminate  blame  is  as  bad  as  undiscrim- 
inating  praise — it  only  makes  a  man 
tired. 

I  learned  this,  like  most  of  the  sense 
I've  got — hard;  and  it  was  only  a  few 
years  ago  that  I  took  my  last  lesson  in  it. 
I  came  down  one  morning  with  my 
breakfast  digesting  pretty  easy,  and 
found  the  orders  fairly  heavy  and  the 
kicks  rather  light,  so  I  told  the  young 
man  who  was  reading  the  mail  to  me, 
and  who,  of  course,  hadn't  had  anything 
special  to  do  with  the  run  of  orders,  to 
buy  himself  a  suit  of  clothes  and  send 
the  bill  to  the  old  man. 

Well,  when  the  afternoon  mail  came 
in,  I  dipped  into  that,  too,  but  I'd 
eaten  a  pretty  tony  luncheon,  and  it  got 
to  finding  fault  with  its  surroundings, 
and  the  letters  were  as  full  of  kicks  as  a 
drove  of  Missouri  mules.  So  I  began 
taking  it  out  on  the  fellow  who  happened 
to  be  handiest,  the  same  clerk  to  whom 
I  had  given  the  suit  of  clothes  in  the 
262 


LETTERS  TO   HIS  SON 

morning.  Of  course,  he  hadn't  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  run  of  kicks  either, 
but  he  never  put  up  a  hand  to  defend 
himself  till  I  was  all  through,  and  then 
he  only  asked : 

"Say,  Mr.  Graham,  don't  you  want 
that  suit  of  clothes  back?" 

Of  course,  I  could  have  fired  him  on 
the  spot  for  impudence,  but  I  made  it  a 
suit  and  an  overcoat  instead.  I  don't 
expect  to  get  my  experience  on  free  passes. 
And  I  had  my  money's  worth,  too, 
because  it  taught  me  that  it's  a  good 
rule  to  make  sure  the  other  fellow's 
wrong  before  you  go  ahead.  When  you 
jump  on  the  man  who  didn't  do  it,  you 
make  sore  spots  all  over  him;  and  it 
takes  the  spring  out  of  your  leap  for  the 
fellow  who  did  it. 

One  of  the  first  things  a  boss  must  lose 
is  his  temper — and  it  must  stay  lost. 
There's  about  as  much  sense  in  getting 
yourself  worked  up  into  a  rage  when  a 
clerk  makes  a  mistake  as  there  is  in 
263 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

going  into  the  barn  and  touching  off  a  keg 
of  gunpowder  under  the  terrier  because 
he  got  mixed  up  in  the  dark  and  blun- 
dered into  a  chicken-coop  instead  of  a 
rat-hole.  Fido  may  be  an  all-right  ratter, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  his  foot  slips 
occasionally,  and  a  cut  now  and  then 
with  a  switch  enough  to  keep  him  in  order ; 
but  if  his  taste  for  chicken  develops 
faster  than  his  nose  for  rats,  it's  easier  to 
give  him  to  one  of  the  neighbors  than 
to  blow  him  off  the  premises. 

Where  a  few  words,  quick,  sharp,  and 
decisive,  aren't  enough  for  a  man,  a 
cussing  out  is  too  much.  It  proves  that 
he's  unfit  for  his  work,  and  it  unfits  you 
for  yours.  The  world  is  full  of  fellows 
who  could  take  the  energy  which  they 
put  into  useless  cussing  of  their  men,  and 
double  their  business  with  it. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 


264 


No.  13 


FROM  John  Graham, 
at  the  Union  Stock 
Yards,  Chicago,  to 
his  son,  Pierrepont,  care  of 
Graham  &  Company,  Den- 
ver. The  young  man  has 
been  offered  a  large  interest 
in  a  big  thing  at  a  small 
price,  and  he  has  written 
asking  the  old  man  to  lend 
him  the  price. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

XIII 

CHICAGO,  June  4,  1900. 
Dear  Pierre pont:  Judging  from  what 
you  say  about  the  Highfaluting  Lulu, 
it  must  be  a  wonder,  and  the  owner's 
reason  for  selling — that  his  lungs  are 
getting  too  strong  to  stand  the  climate — 
sounds  perfectly  good.  You  can  have 
the  money  at  5  per  cent,  as  soon  as 
you've  finally  made  up  your  mind  that 
you  want  it,  but  before  you  plant  it  in 
the  mine  for  keeps,  I  think  you  should 
tie  a  wet  towel  around  your  head,  while 
you  consider  for  a  few  minutes  the  bare 
possibility  of  having  to  pay  me  back  out 
of  your  salary,  instead  of  the  profits 
from  the  mine.  You  can't  throw  a  stone 
anywhere  in  this  world  without  hitting 
267 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

a  man,  with  a  spade  over  his  shoulder, 
who's  just  said  the  last  sad  good-byes  to 
his  bank  account  and  is  starting  out  for 
the  cemetery  where  defunct  flyers  are 
buried. 

While  you've  only  asked  me  for  money, 
and  not  for  advice,  I  may  say  that,  should 
you  put  a  question  on  some  general  topic 
like,  "  What  are  the  wild  waves  saying, 
father?"  I  should  answer,  "  Keep  out  of 
watered  stocks,  my  son,  and  wade  into 
your  own  business  a  little  deeper." 
Though,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it, 
these  continuous-performance  companies, 
that  let  you  in  for  ten,  twenty,  and  thirty 
cents  a  share,  ought  to  be  a  mighty  good 
thing  for  investors  after  they've  developed 
their  oil  and  gold  properties,  because  a 
lot  of  them  can  afford  to  pay  10  per  cent, 
before  they've  developed  anything  but 
suckers. 

So  long  as  gold-mining  with  a  pen  and 
a  little  fancy  paper  continues  to  be  such 
a  profitable  industry,  a  lot  of  fellows  who 
268 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

write  a  pretty  fair  hand  won't  see  any 
good  reason  for  swinging  a  pick.  They'll 
simply  pass  the  pick  over  to  the  fellow 
who  invests,  and  start  a  new  prospectus. 
While  the  road  to  Hell  is  paved  with 
good  intentions,  they're  something  after 
all;  but  the  walls  along  the  short  cuts  to 
Fortune  are  papered  with  only  the  pros- 
pectuses of  good  intentions — intentions 
to  do  the  other  fellow  good  and  plenty. 
I  don't  want  to  question  your  ability 
or  the  purity  of  your  friends'  intentions, 
but  are  you  sure  you  know  their  business 
as  well  as  they  do?  Denver  is  a  lovely 
city,  with  a  surplus  of  climate  and 
scenery,  and  a  lot  of  people  there  go 
home  from  work  every  night  pushing  a 
wheelbarrow  full  of  gold  in  front  of 
them,  but  at  the  same  time  there  is  no 
surplus  of  that  commodity,  and  most  of 
the  fellows  who  find  it  have  cut  their 
wisdom  teeth  on  quartz.  It  isn't  reason- 
able to  expect  that  you're  going  to  buy 
gold  at  fifty  cents  on  the  dollar,  just 
269 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

because  it  hasn't  been  run  through  the 
mint  yet. 

I  simply  mention  these  things  in  a 
general  way.  There  are  two  branches 
in  the  study  of  riches — getting  the  money 
and  keeping  it  from  getting  away.  When 
a  fellow  has  saved  a  thousand  dollars, 
and  every  nickel  represents  a  walk  home, 
instead  of  a  ride  on  a  trolley;  and  every 
dollar  stands  for  cigars  he  didn't  smoke 
and  for  shows  he  didn't  see — it  naturally 
seems  as  if  that  money,  when  it's  in- 
vested, ought  to  declare  dividends  every 
thirty  days.  But  almost  any  scheme 
which  advertises  that  it  will  make  small 
investors  rich  quick  is  like  one  of  these 
Yellowstone  geysers  that  spouts  up 
straight  from  Hades  with  a  boom  and 
a  roar — it's  bound  to  return  to  its  native 
brimstone  sooner  or  later,  leaving  nothing 
behind  it  but  a  little  smoke,  and  a  smell 
of  burned  money — your  money. 

If  a  fellow  would  stop  to  think,  he 
would  understand  that  when  money 
270 


LETTERS  TO  HIS   SON 

comes  in  so  hard,  it  isn't  reasonable  to 
expect  that  it  can  go  out  and  find  more 
easy.  But  the  great  trouble  is  that  a 
good  many  small  investors  don't  stop  to 
think,  or  else  let  plausible  strangers  do 
their  thinking  for  them.  That's  why 
most  young  men  have  tucked  away  with 
their  college  diploma  and  the  picture  of 
their  first  girl,  an  impressive  deed  to  a 
lot  in  Nowhere-on-the-Nothingness,  or  a 
beautiful  certificate  of  stock  in  the 
Gushing  Girlie  Oil  Well,  that  has  never 
gushed  anything  but  lies  and  promises, 
or  a  lovely  receipt  for  money  invested  in 
one  of  these  discretionary  pools  that  are 
formed  for  the  higher  education  of  indis- 
creet fools.  While  I  reckon  that  every 
fellow  has  one  of  these  certificates  of 
membership  in  The  Great  Society  of 
Suckers,  I  had  hoped  that  you  would 
buy  yours  for  a  little  less  than  the 
Highfaluting  Lulu  is  going  to  cost  you. 
Young  men  are  told  that  the  first 
thousand  dollars  comes  hard  and  that 
271 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

after  that  it  comes  easier.  So  it  does — 
just  a  thousand  dollars  plus  interest 
easier;  and  easier  through  all  the  in- 
,  creased  efficiency  that  self-denial  and 
self-control  have  given  you,  and  the 
larger  salary  they've  made  you  worth. 

It  doesn't  seem  like  much  when  you 
take  your  savings'  bank  book  around  at 
the  end  of  the  year  and  get  a  little 
thirty  or  forty  dollars  interest  added,  or 
when  you  cash  in  the  coupon  on  the 
bond  that  you've  bought;  yet  your 
bank  book  and  your  bond  are  still  true 
to  you.  But  if  you'd  had  your  thousand 
in  one  of  these  50  per  cent,  bleached 
blonde  schemes,  it  would  have  lit  out 
long  ago  with  a  fellow  whose  ways  were 
more  coaxing,  leaving  you  the  laugh  and 
a  mighty  small  lock  of  peroxide  gold 
hair.  If  you  think  that  saving  your 
first  thousand  dollars  is  hard,  you'll  find 
that  saving  the  second,  after  you've 
lost  the  first,  is  hell  and  repeat. 

You  can't  too  soon  make  it  a  rule  to 
272 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

invest  only  on  your  own  know  and  never 
on  somebody  else's  say  so.  You  may 
lose  some  profits  by  this  policy,  but 
you're  bound  to  miss  a  lot  of  losses. 
Often  the  best  reason  for  keeping  out  of 
a  thing  is  that  everybody  else  is  going 
into  it.  A  crowd's  always  dangerous; 
it  first  pushes  prices  up  beyond  reason 
and  then  down  below  common  sense. 
The  time  to  buy  is  before  the  crowd 
comes  in  or  after  it  gets  out.  It'll 
always  come  back  to  a  good  thing 
when  it's  been  pushed  up  again  to  the 
point  where  it's  a  bad  thing. 

It's  better  to  go  slow  and  lose  a  good 
bargain  occasionally  than  to  go  fast  and 
never  get  a  bargain.  It's  all  right  to 
take  a  long  chance  now  and  then,  when 
you've  got  a  long  bank  account,  but  it's 
been  my  experience  that  most  of  the  long 
chances  are  taken  by  the  fellows  with 
short  bank  accounts. 

You'll  meet  a  lot  of  men  in  Chicago 
who'll  point  out  the  corner  of  State  and 
273 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

Madison  and  tell  you  that  when  they 
first  came  to  the  city  they  were  offered 
that  lot  for  a  hundred  dollars,  and  that 
it's  been  the  crowning  regret  of  their 
lives  that  they  didn't  buy  it.  But  for 
every  genuine  case  of  crowning  regret 
because  a  fellow  didn't  buy,  there  are  a 
thousand  because  he  did.  Don't  let  it 
make  you  feverish  the  next  time  you  see 
one  of  those  Won 't-you-come-in-quick-and- 
get-rich-sudden  ads.  Freeze  up  and  on  to 
your  thousand,  and  by  and  by  you'll  get  a 
chance  to  buy  a  little  stock  in  the  concern 
for  which  you're  working  and  which  you 
know  something  about;  or  to  take  that 
thousand  and  one  or  two  more  like  it, 
and  buy  an  interest  in  a  nice  little  busi- 
ness of  the  breed  that  you've  been 
grooming  and  currying  for  some  other 
fellow.  But  if  your  money's  tied  up  in 
the  sudden  -  millionaire  business,  you'll 
have  to  keep  right  on  clerking. 

A  man's  fortune  should  grow  like  a 
tree,  in  rings  around  the  parent  trunk. 
274 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

It'll  be  slow  work  at  first,  but  every  ring 
will  be  a  little  wider  and  a  little  thicker 
than  the  last  one,  and  by  and  by  you'll 
be  big  enough  and  strong  enough  to 
shed  a  few  acorns  within  easy  reaching 
distance,  and  so  start  a  nice  little  nursery 
of  your  own  from  which  you  can  saw 
wood  some  day.  Whenever  you  hear 
of  a  man's  jumping  suddenly  into  promi- 
nence and  fortune, look  behind  the  popular 
explanation  of  a  lucky  chance.  You'll 
usually  find  that  these  men  manufactured 
their  own  luck  right  on  the  premises  by 
years  of  slow  preparation,  and  are  simply 
realizing  on  hard  work. 

Speaking  of  manufacturing  luck  on  the 
premises,  naturally  calls  to  mind  the 
story  of  old  Jim  Jackson,  "  dealer  in 
mining  properties,"  and  of  young  Thorn- 
ley  Harding,  graduate  of  Princeton  and 
citizen  of  New  York. 

Thorn  wasn't  a  bad  young  fellow,  but 
he'd  been  brought  up  by  a  nice,  hard- 
working, fond  and  foolish  old  papa,  in 
275 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

the  fond  belief  that  his  job  in  life  was  to 
spend  the  income  of  a  million.  But  one 
week  papa  failed,  and  the  next  week  he 
died,  and  the  next  Thorn  found  he  had 
to  go  to  work.  He  lasted  out  the  next 
week  on  a  high  stool,  and  then  he  decided 
that  the  top,  where  there  was  plenty  of 
room  for  a  bright  young  man,  was  some- 
where out  West. 

Thorn's  life  for  the  next  few  years  was 
the  whole  series  of  hard-luck  parables, 
with  a  few  chapters  from  Job  thrown  in, 
and  then  one  day  he  met  old  Jim.  He 
seemed  to  cotton  to  Thorn  from  the 
jump.  Explained  to  him  that  there  was 
nothing  in  this  digging  gopher  holes  in 
the  solid  rock  and  eating  Chinaman's 
grub  for  the  sake  of  making  niggers' 
wages.  Allowed  that  he  was  letting 
other  fellows  dig  the  holes,  and  that  he 
was  selling  them  at  a  fair  margin  of 
profit  to  young  Eastern  capitalists  who 
hadn't  been  in  the  country  long  enough 
to  lose  their  roll  and  that  trust  in  Man- 

276 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

kind  and  Nature  which  was  Youth's 
most  glorious  possession.  Needed  a 
bright  young  fellow  to  help  him — some- 
one who  could  wear  good  clothes  and  not 
look  as  if  he  were  in  a  disguise,  and  could 
spit  out  his  words  without  chewing  them 
up.  Would  Thorn  join  him  on  a  grub, 
duds,  and  commission  basis?  Would 
Thorn  surprise  his  skin  with  a  boiled 
shirt  and  his  stomach  with  a  broiled 
steak?  You  bet  he  would,  and  they 
hitched  up  then  and  there. 

They  ran  along  together  for  a  year  or 
more,  selling  a  played-out  mine  now  and 
then  or  a  "promising  claim,"  for  a  small 
sum.  Thorn  knew  that  the  mines 
which  they  handled  were  no  Golcondas, 
but,  as  he  told  himself,  you  could  never 
absolutely  swear  that  a  fellow  wouldn't 
strike  it  rich  in  one  of  them. 

There  came  a  time,  though,  when  they 

were  way  down  on  their  luck.     The  run 

of     young    Englishmen   was    light,    and 

visiting  Easterners  were  a  little  gun-shy. 

277 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

Almost  looked  to  Thorn  as  if  he  might 
have  to  go  to  work  for  a  living,  but  he 
was  a  tenacious  cuss,  and  stuck  it  out 
till  one  day  when  Jim  came  back  to 
Leadville  from  a  near-by  camp,  where  he'd 
been  looking  at  some  played-out  claims. 

Jim  was  just  boiling  over  with  excite- 
ment. Wouldn't  let  on  what  it  was 
about,  but  insisted  on  Thorn's  going 
back  with  him  then  and  there.  Said 
it  was  too  big  to  tell;  must  be  taken  in 
by  all  Thorn's  senses,  aided  by  his 
powers  of  exaggeration. 

It  took  them  only  a  few  hours  to  make 
the  return  trip.  When  Jim  came  within 
a  couple  of  miles  of  the  camp,  he  struck 
in  among  some  trees  and  on  to  the  center 
of  a  little  clearing.  There  he  called 
Thorn's  attention  to  a  small,  deep  spring 
of  muddy  water. 

'Thorn,"  Jim  began,  as  impressive 
as  if  he  were  introducing  him  to  an  easy 
millionaire,  "look  at  thet  spring.  Feast 
yer  eyes  on  it  and  tell  me  what  you  see." 

278 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

"  A  spring,  you  blooming  idiot,"  Thorn 
replied,  feeling  a  little  disappointed. 

'  You  wouldn't  allow,  Thorn,  to  look 
at  it,  thet  thar  was  special  pints  about 
thet  spring,  would  you?"  he  went  on, 
slow  and  solemn.  "  You  wouldn't  be 
willin'  to  swar  thet  the  wealth  of  the 
Hindoos  warn't  in  thet  precious  flooid 
which  you  scorn?  Son,"  he  wound  up 
suddenly,  "this  here  is  the  derndest, 
orneriest  spring  you  ever  see.  Thet  water 
is  rich  enough  to  be  drunk  straight." 

Thorn  began  to  get  excited  in  earnest 
now.  "  What  is  it  ?  Spit  it  out  quick  ? " 

"Watch  me,  sonny,"  and  Jim  hung 
his  tin  cup  in  the  spring  and  sat  down  on 
a  near-by  rock.  Then  after  fifteen  silent 
minutes  had  passed,  he  lifted  the  cup 
from  the  water  and  passed  it  over. 
Thorn  almost  jumped  out  of  his  jack- 
boots with  surprise. 

"Silver?"  he  gasped. 

"  Generwine, ' '  Jim  replied.  "  Down  my 
way,  in  Illinois,  thar  used  to  be  a 
279 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

spring  thet  turned  things  to  stone.  This 
gal  gives  'em  a  jacket  of  silver." 

After  Thorn  had  kicked  and  rolled  and 
yelled  a  little  of  the  joy  out  of  his  system, 
he  started  to  take  a  drink  of  the  water, 
but  Jim  stopped  him  with : 

"  Taste  her  if  you  wanter,  but  she's 
one  of  them  min'rul  springs  which  leaves 
a  nasty  smack  behind."  And  then  he 
added:  "  I  reckon  she's  a  winner.  We'll 
christen  her  the  Infunt  Fernomerner, 
an'  gin  a  lib'rul  investor  a  crack  at  her." 

The  next  morning  Thorn  started  back, 
doing  fancy  steps  up  the  trail. 

He  hadn't  been  in  Leadville  two  days 
before  he  bumped  into  an  old  friend  of 
his  uncle's,  Tom  Castle,  who  was  out 
there  on  some  business,  and  had  his 
daughter,  a  mighty  pretty  girl,  along. 
Thorn  sort  of  let  the  spring  slide  for  a 
few  days,  while  he  took  them  in  hand 
and  showed  them  the  town.  And  by  the 
time  he  was  through,  Castle  had  a  pretty 
bad  case  of  mining  fever,  and  Thorn  and 
280 


LETTERS  TO   HIS  SON 

the  girl  were  in  the  first  stages  of  some- 
thing else. 

Castle  showed  a  good  deal  of  curiosity 
about  Thorn's  business  and  how  he 
was  doing,  so  he  told  'em  all  about  how 
he'd  struck  it  rich,  and  in  his  pride 
showed  a  letter  which  he  had  received 
from  Jim  the  day  before.  It  ran: 

"  Dere  Thorn:  The  Infunt  Fernom- 
erner  is  a  wunder  and  the  pile  groes 
every  day.  I  hav  2  kittles,  a  skilit  and 
a  duzzen  cans  in  the  spring  every  nite 
wich  is  awl  it  wil  hold  and  days  i  trys 
out  the  silver  frum  them  wich  have  caked 
on  nites.  This  is  to  dern  slo.  we 
nede  munny  so  we  kin  dril  and  get  a 
bigger  flo  and  tanks  and  bilers  and 
sech.  hump  yoursel  and  sell  that  third 
intrest.  i  hav  to  ten  the  kittles  now 
so  no  mor  frum  jim." 

"You    see,"    Thorn    explained,     "we 

camped  beside  the  spring  one  night,  and  a 

tin  cup,  which  Jim  let  fall  when  he  first 

tasted  the  water,   discovered  its  secret. 

281 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

It's  just  the  same  principle  as  those 
lime  springs  that  incrust  things  with 
lime.  This  one  must  percolate  through 
a  bed  of  ore.  There's  some  quality  in 
the  water  which  acts  as  a  solvent  of  the 
silver,  you  know,  so  that  the  water  be- 
comes charged  with  it." 

Now,  Thorn  hadn't  really  thought  of 
interesting  Castle  as  an  investor  in  that 
spring,  because  he  regarded  his  Western 
business  and  his  Eastern  friends  as  things 
not  to  be  mixed,  and  he  wasn't  very 
hot  to  have  Castle  meet  Jim  and  get  any 
details  of  his  life  for  the  past  few  years. 
But  nothing  would  do  Castle  but  that 
they  should  have  a  look  at  The  Infant, 
and  have  it  at  once. 

Well,  sir,  when  they  got  about  a  mile 
from  camp  they  saw  Jim  standing  in  the 
trail,  and  smiling  all  over  his  honest, 
homely  face.  He  took  Castle  for  a 
customer,  of  course,  and  after  saying 
"Howdy"  to  Thorn,  opened  right  up: 
"  I  reckon  Thorn  hev  toted  you  up  to 
282 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

see  thet  blessid  infunt  as  I'm  mother, 
father  and  wet-nuss  to.  Thar  never 
was  sich  a  kid.  She's  jest  the  cutest 
little  cuss  ever  you  see.  Eh,  Thorn  ?  " 

"  Do  you  refer  to  the  er — er — Infant 
Phenomenon  ? "  asked  Castle,  all  eagerness. 

"  The  same  precious  infunt.  She's  a 
cooin'  to  herself  over  thar  in  them 
pines,"  Jim  replied,  and  he  started 
right  in  to  explain:  "As  you  see, 
Jedge,  the  precious  nooid  comes  from 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  as  full  of 
silver  as  sody  water  of  gas ;  and  to  think 
thet  water  is  the  mejum.  Nacher's  our 
silent  partner,  and  the  blessid  infunt 
delivers  the  goods.  No  ore,  no  stamps, 
no  sweating  no  grin  din',  and  crushiii', 
and  millin',  and  smeltin'.  Thar  you  hev 
the  pure  juice,  and  you  bile  it  till  it  jells. 
Looky  here,"  and  Jim  reached  down 
and  pulled  out  a  skillet.  " Taste  it! 
Smell  it !  Bite  it !  Lick  it !  An'  then 
tell  me  if  Sollermun  in  all  his  glory  was 
dressed  up  like  this  here  !  " 
28* 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

Castle  handled  that  skillet  like  a  baby, 
and  stroked  it  as  if  he  just  naturally 
loved  children.  Stayed  right  beside  the 
spring  during  the  rest  of  the  day,  and 
after  supper  he  began  talking  about  it 
with  Jim,  while  Thorn  and  Kate  went 
for  a  stroll  along  the  trail.  During  the 
time  they  were  away  Jim  must  have 
talked  to  pretty  good  purpose,  for  no 
sooner  were  the  partners  alone  for  the 
night  than  Jim  said  to  Thorn :  "  I  hev  jest 
sold  the  Jedge  a  third  intrest  in  the  Fer- 
nomerner  fur  twenty  thousand  dollars." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  answered 
Thorn,  for  he  still  didn't  quite  like  the 
idea  of  doing  business  with  one  of  his 
uncle's  friends.  "  The  Infant  looks  good 
and  I  believe  she's  a  wonder,  but  it's  a 
new  thing,  and  twenty  thousand's  a 
heap  of  money  to  Castle.  If  it  shouldn't 
pan  out  up  to  the  first  show-down,  I'd 
feel  deucedly  cut  up  about  having  let  him 
in.  I'd  a  good  deal  rather  refuse  to  sell 
Castle  and  hunt  up  a  stranger." 
284 


LETTERS  TO   HIS   SON 

"Don't  be  a  dern  fool,  son,"  Jim 
replied.  "  He  knew  we  was  arter  money 
to  develop,  and  when  he  made  thet  offer 
I  warn't  goin'  to  be  sich  a  permiscuss 
Charley-hoss  as  to  refuse.  It'd  be  a 
burnin'  crime  not  to  freeze  to  this  cus- 
tomer. It  takes  time  to  find  customers, 
even  for  a  good  thing  like  this  here,  and 
it's  bein'  a  leetle  out  of  the  usual  run  will 
make  it  slower  still." 

"  But  my  people  East.  If  Castle  should 
get  stuck  he'll  raise  an  awful  howl." 

Jim  grinned:  uHe'd  holler,  would 
he?  In  course;  it  might  help  his 
business.  Yer  the  orneriest  ostrich  fur 
a  man  of  yer  keerful  eddication!  Did 
you  hear  thet  Boston  banker  what  bought 
the  Cracker- jack  from  us  a-hollerin' ? 
He  kept  so  shet  about  it,  I'll  bet,  thet 
you  couldn't  a-blasted  it  outer  him." 

They  argued  along  until  after  midnight, 

but  Jim  carried  his  point ;  and  two  weeks 

later  Thorn  was  in  Denver,  saying  good- 

by  to  Kate,  and  listening  to  her  whisper, 

285 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

"  But  it  won't  be  for  long,  as  you'll 
soon  be  able  to  leave  business  and  come 
back  East,"  and  to  Castle  yelling  from 
the  rear  platform  to  "  Push  the  Infant 
and  get  her  sizzling." 

Later,  as  Jim  and  Thorn  walked  back 
to  the  hotel,  the  old  scoundrel  turned  to 
his  partner  with  a  grin  and  said:  "I 
hev  removed  the  insides  from  the  Infunt 
and  stored  'em  fur  future  ref'rence: 
Meanin',  in  course,"  he  added,  as  Thorn 
gaped  up  at  him  like  a  chicken  with  the 
pip,  "  the  'lectro-platin'  outfit.  P'r'aps 
it  would  be  better  to  take  a  leetle  pasear 
now,  but  later  we  can  come  back  and  find 
another  orphant  infunt  and  christen  her 
the  Phoenix,  which  is  Greek  fur  sold  agin. " 

It  took  Thorn  a  full  minute  to  compre- 
hend the  rascality  in  which  he'd  been  an 
unconscious  partner,  but  when  he  finally 
got  it  through  his  head  that  Jim  had 
substituted  the  child  of  a  base-bom 
churl  for  the  Earl's  daughter,  he  fairly 
raged.  Threatened  him  with  exposure 
286 


LETTERS  TO   HIS  SON 

and  arrest  if  he  didn't  make  restitution 
to  Castle,  but  Jim  simply  grinned  and 
asked  him  whether  he  allowed  to  sing  his 
complaint  to  the  police.  Wound  up  by 
saying  that,  even  though  Thorn  had 
rounded  on  him,  old  Jim  was  a  square 
man,  and  he  proposed  to  divide  even. 

Thorn  was  simply  in  the  fix  of  the 
fellow  between  the  bull  and  the  bull- 
dog— he  had  a  choice,  but  it  was  only 
whether  he  would  rather  be  gored  or 
bitten,  so  he  took  the  ten  thou- 
sand, and  that  night  Jim  faded  away 
on  a  west  -  bound  Pullman,  smoking 
two-bit  cigars  and  keeping  the  porter 
busy  standing  by  with  a  cork-screw. 
Thorn  took  his  story  and  the  ten  thousand 
back  to  his  uncle  in  the  East,  and  after 
a  pretty  solemn  interview  with  the  old 
man,  he  went  around  and  paid  Castle  in 
full  and  resumed  his  perch  on  top  of  the 
high  stool  he'd  left  a  few  years  before. 
He  never  got  as  far  as  explaining  to  the 
girl  in  person,  because  Castle  told  him 

287 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

.that  while  he  didn't  doubt  his  honesty, 
he  was  afraid  he  was  too  easy  a  mark  to 
succeed  in  Wall  Street.  Yet  Thorn  did 
work  up  slowly  in  his  uncle's  office,  and 
he's  now  in  charge  of  the  department 
that  looks  after  the  investments  of 
widows  and  orphans,  for  he  is  so  blamed 
conservative  that  they  can't  use  him  in 
any  part  of  the  business  where  it's 
necessary  to  take  chances. 

I  simply  speak  of  Thorn  as  an  example 
of  why  I  think  you  should  have  a  cool 
head  before  you  finally  buy  the  Lulu 
with  my  money.  After  all,  it  seems 
rather  foolish  to  pay  railroad  fares  to  the 
West  and  back  for  the  sake  of  getting 
stuck  when  there  are  such  superior 
facilities  for  that  right  here  in  the  East. 
Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 


288 


No.  14 


FROM  John  Graham,  at 
the  Omaha  branch  of 
Graham  &  Company, 
to  his  son,  Pierrepont,  at  the 
Union  Stock  Yards, 
Chicago.  The  old  man  has 
been  advised  by  wire  of  the 
arrival  of  a  prospective 
partner,  and  that  the 
mother,  the  son,  and  the 
business  are  all  doing  well. 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 
LETTERS  TO   HIS  SON 

XIV 

OMAHA,  October  6,  1900. 
Dear  Pierre  font:  I'm  so  blame  glad  it's 
a  boy  that  I'm  getting  over  feeling  sorry 
it  ain't  a  girl,  and  I'm  almost  reconciled 
to  it's  not  being  twins.  Twelve  pounds, 
bully  !  maybe  that  doesn't  keep  up  the 
Graham  reputation  for  giving  good 
weight !  But  I'm  coming  home  on  the 
run  to  heft  him  myself,  because  I  never 
knew  a  fellow  who  wouldn't  lie  a  little 
about  the  weight  of  number  one,  and  then, 
when  you  led  him  up  to  the  hay  scales, 
claim  that  it's  a  well-known  scientific 
principle  that  children  shrink  during  the 
first  week  like  a  ham  in  smoke.  Allowing 
for  tare,  though,  if  he  still  nets  ten  I'll 
feel  that  he's  a  credit  to  the  brand. 
291 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

It's  a  great  thing  to  be  sixty  minutes 
old,  with  nothing  in  the  world  except  a 
blanket  and  an  appetite,  and  the  whole 
fight  ahead  of  you;  but  it's  pretty  good, 
too,  to  be  sixty  years  old,  and  a  grandpop, 
with  twenty  years  of  fight  left  in  you  still. 
It  sort  of  makes  me  feel,  though,  as  if  it 
were  almost  time  I  had  a  young  fellow 
hitched  up  beside  me  who  was  strong 
enough  to  pull  his  half  of  the  load  and 
willing  enough  so  that  he'd  keep  the  traces 
taut  on  his  side.  I  don't  want  any  double- 
team  arrangement  where  I  have  to  pull 
the  load  and  the  other  horse,  too.  But 
you  seem  strong,  and  you  act  willing,  so 
when  I  get  back  I  reckon  we'll  hitch  for  a 
little  trial  spin.  A  good  partner  ought 
to  be  like  a  good  wife  —  a  source  of 
strength  to  a  man.  But  it  isn't  reason- 
able to  tie  up  with  six,  like  a  Mormon 
elder,  and  expect  that  you're  going  to 
have  half  a  dozen  happy  homes. 

They  say  that  there  are  three  genera- 
tions between  shirt-sleeves  and  shirt- 
292 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

sleeves  in  a  good  many  families,  but  I 
don't  want  any  such  gap  as  that  in  ours. 
I  hope  to  live  long  enough  to  see  the  kid 
with  us  at  the  Stock  Yards,  and  all  three 
of  us  with  our  coats  off  hustling  to  make 
the  business  hum.  If  I  shouldn't,  you 
must  keep  the  boy  strong  in  the  faith.  It 
makes  me  a  little  uneasy  when  I  go  to 
New  York  and  see  the  carryings-on  of 
some  of  the  old  merchants'  grandchildren. 
I  don't  think  it's  true,  as  Andy  says, 
that  to  die  rich  is  to  die  disgraced,  but 
it's  the  case  pretty  often  that  to  die  rich 
is  to  be  disgraced  afterward  by  a  lot  of 
light-weight  heirs. 

Every  now  and  then  some  blame  fool 
stops  me  on  the  street  to  say  that  he  sup- 
poses I've  got  to  the  point  now  where  I'm 
going  to  quit  and  enjoy  myself;  and 
when  I  tell  him  I've  been  enjoying  myself 
for  forty  years  and  am  going  to  keep  right 
on  at  it,  he  goes  off  shaking  his  head  and 
telling  people  I'm  a  money-grubber.  He 
can't  see  that  it's  the  fellow  who  doesn't 

293 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

enjoy  his  work  and  who  quits  just  because 
he's  made  money  that's  the  money- 
grubber  ;  or  that  the  man  who  keeps  right 
on  is  fighting  for  something  more  than  a 
little  sugar  on  his  bread  and  butter. 

When  a  doctor  reaches  the  point  where 
he's  got  a  likely  little  bunch  of  dyspeptics 
giving  him  ten  dollars  apiece  for  telling 
them  to  eat  something  different  from 
what  they  have  been  eating,  and  to  chew 
it — people  don't  ask  him  why  he  doesn't 
quit  and  live  on  the  interest  of  his  dys- 
pepsia money.  By  the  time  he's  gained 
his  financial  independence,  he's  lost  his 
personal  independence  altogether.  For 
it's  just  about  then  that  he's  reached  the 
age  where  he  can  put  a  little  extra  sense 
and  experience  into  his  pills;  so  he 
can't  turn  around  without  some  one's 
sticking  out  his  tongue  at  him  and  asking 
him  to  guess  what  he  had  for  dinner  that 
disagreed  with  him.  It  never  occurs  to 
these  people  that  he  will  let  his  experience 
and  ability  go  to  waste,  just  because  he 
294 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

has  made  money  enough  to  buy  a  little 
dyspepsia  of  his  own,  and  it  never  occurs 
to  him  to  quit  for  any  such  foolish  reason. 
You'll  meet  a  lot  of  first-class  idiots  in 
this  world,  who  regard  business  as  low 
and  common,  because  their  low  and  com- 
mon old  grandpas  made  money  enough 
so  they  don't  have  to  work.  And  you'll 
meet  a  lot  of  second-class  fools  who  carry 
a  line  of  something  they  call  culture,  which 
bears  about  the  same  relation  to  real  edu- 
cation that  canned  corned  beef  does  to 
porterhouse  steak  with  mushrooms;  and 
these  fellows  shudder  a  little  at  the  men- 
tion of  business,  and  moan  over  the  mad 
race  for  wealth,  and  deplore  the  coarse 
commercialism  of  the  age.  But  while 
they  may  have  no  special  use  for  a  busi- 
ness man,  they  always  have  a  particular 
use  for  his  money.  You  want  to  be 
ready  to  spring  back  while  you're  talking 
to  them,  because  when  a  fellow  doesn't 
think  it's  refined  to  mention  money,  and 
calls  it  an  honorarium,  he's  getting  ready 

295 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

to  hit  you  for  a  little  more  than  the  mar- 
ket price.  I've  had  dealings  with  a  good 
many  of  these  shy,  sensitive  souls  who 
shrink  from  mentioning  the  dollar,  but 
when  it  came  down  to  the  point  of  settling 
the  bill,  they  usually  tried  to  charge  a  little 
extra  for  the  shock  to  their  refinement. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  that  we're  all 
in  trade  when  we've  got  anything,  from 
poetry  to  pork,  to  sell ;  and  it's  all  foolish- 
ness to  talk  about  one  fellow's  goods  being 
sweller  than  another's.  The  only  way 
in  which  he  can  be  different  is  by  making 
them  better.  But  if  we  haven't  anything 
to  sell,  we  ain't  doing  anything  to  shove 
the  world  along;  and  we  ought  to  make 
room  on  it  for  some  coarse,  commercial 
cuss  with  a  sample-case. 

I've  met  a  heap  of  men  who  were  idling 
through  life  because  they'd  made  money 
or  inherited  it,  and  so  far  as  I  could  see, 
about  all  that  they  could  do  was  to  read 
till  they  got  the  dry  rot,  or  to  booze  till 
they  got  the  wet  rot.  All  books  and  no 
296 


LETTERS  TO  HIS   SON 

business  makes  Jack  a  jack-in-the-box, 
with  springs  and  wheels  in  his  head;  all 
play  and  no  work  makes  Jack  a  jackass, 
with  bosh  in  his  skull.  The  right  prescrip- 
tion for  him  is  play  when  he  really  needs 
it,  and  work  whether  he  needs  it  or  not; 
for  that  dose  makes  Jack  a  cracker-jack. 
Like  most  fellows  who  haven't  any  too 
much  of  it,  I've  a  great  deal  of  respect  for 
education,  and  that's  why  I'm  sorry  to 
see  so  many  men  who  deal  in  it  selling 
gold-bricks  to  young  fellows  who  can't 
afford  to  be  buncoed.  It  would  be  a 
mighty  good  thing  if  we  could  put  a  lot  of 
the  professors  at  work  in  the  offices  and 
shops,  and  give  these  canned-culture  boys 
jobs  in  the  glue  and  fertilizer  factories 
until  a  little  of  their  floss  and  foolishness 
had  worn  off.  For  it  looks  to  an  old  fel- 
low, who's  taking  a  bird's-eye  view  from 
the  top  of  a  packing  house,  as  if  some  of 
the  colleges  were  still  running  their  plants 
with  machinery  that  would  have  been 
sent  to  the  scrap-heap,  in  any  other  busi- 
297 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

ness,  a  hundred  years  ago.  They  turn 
out  a  pretty  fair  article  as  it  is,  but  with 
improved  machinery  they  could  save  a 
lot  of  waste  and  by-products  and  find  a 
quicker  market  for  their  output.  But 
it's  the  years  before  our  kid  goes  to  college 
that  I'm  worrying  about  now.  For  I  be- 
lieve that  we  ought  to  teach  a  boy  how  to 
use  his  hands  as  well  as  his  brain ;  that  he 
ought  to  begin  his  history  lessons  in  the 
present  and  work  back  to  B.  C.  about  the 
time  he  is  ready  to  graduate;  that  he 
ought  to  know  a  good  deal  about  the 
wheat  belt  before  he  begins  loading  up 
with  the  list  of  Patagonian  products ;  that 
he  ought  to  post  up  on  Abraham  Lincoln 
and  Grover  Cleveland  and  Thomas  Edison 
first,  and  save  Rameses  Second  to  while 
away  the  long  winter  evenings  after  busi- 
ness hours,  because  old  Rameses  is  em- 
balmed and  guaranteed  to  keep  anyway; 
that  if  he's  inclined  to  be  tonguey  he 
ought  to  learn  a  living  language  or  two, 
which  he  can  talk  when  a  Dutch  buyer 
298 


LETTERS  TO  HIS   SON 

pretends  he  doesn't  understand  English, 
before  he  tackles  a  dead  one  which  in  all 
probability  he  will  only  give  decent  inter- 
ment in  his  memory. 

Of  course,  it's  a  fine  thing  to  know  all 
about  the  past  and  to  have  the  date  when 
the  geese  cackled  in  Rome  down  pat,  but 
life  is  the  present  and  the  future.  The 
really  valuable  thing  which  we  get  from 
the  past  is  experience,  and  a  fellow  can  pick 
up  a  pretty  fair  working  line  of  that  along 
La  Salle  Street.  A  boy's  education  should 
begin  with  to-day,  deal  a  little  with  to- 
morrow, and  then  go  back  to  day  before 
yesterday.  But  when  a  fellow  begins 
with  the  past,  it's  apt  to  take  him  too 
long  to  catch  up  with  the  present.  A  man 
can  learn  better  most  of  the  things  that 
happened  between  A.  D.  1492  and  B.  C. 
5000  after  he's  grown,  for  then  he  can 
sense  their  meaning  and  remember  what's 
worth  knowing.  But  you  take  the  aver- 
age boy  who's  been  loaded  up  with  this 
sort  of  stuff,  and  dig  into  him,  and  his 
299 


OLD   GORGON   GRAHAM'S 

mind  is  simply  a  cemetery  of  useless  dates 
from  the  tombstones  of  those  tough  and 
sporty  old  kings,  with  here  and  there  the 
jaw-bone  of  an  ass  who  made  a  living  by 
killing  every  one  in  sight  and  unsettling 
business  for  honest  men.  Some  professors 
will  tell  you  that  it's  good  training  any- 
way to  teach  boys  a  lot  of  things  they're 
going  to  forget,  but  it's  been  my  experi- 
ence that  it's  the  best  training  to  teach 
them  things  they'll  remember. 

I  simply  mention  these  matters  in  a 
general  way.  I  don't  want  you  to  under- 
estimate the  value  of  any  sort  of  knowl- 
edge, and  I  want  you  to  appreciate  the 
value  of  other  work  besides  your  own- 
music  and  railroading,  ground  and  lofty 
tumbling  and  banking,  painting  pictures 
and  soap  advertising;  because  if  you're 
not  broad  enough  to  do  this  you're  just 
as  narrow  as  those  fellows  who  are  run- 
ning the  culture  corner,  and  your  mind 
will  get  so  blame  narrow  it  will  overlap. 

I  want  to  raise  our  kid  to  be  a  poor 
300 


LETTERS   TO   HIS   SON 

man's  son,  and  then,  if  it's  necessary,  we 
can  always  teach  him  how  to  be  a  rich 
one's.  Child  nature  is  human  nature,  and 
a  man  who  understands  it  can  make  his 
children  like  the  plain,  sensible  things  and 
ways  as  easily  as  the  rich  and  foolish  ones. 
I  remember  a  nice  old  lady  who  was  rais- 
ing a  lot  of  orphan  grandchildren  on  a 
mighty  slim  income.  They  couldn't  have 
chicken  often  in  that  house,  and  when  they 
did  it  was  a  pretty  close  fit  and  none  to 
throw  away.  So  instead  of  beginning 
with  the  white  meat  and  stirring  up  the 
kids  like  a  cage  full  of  hyenas  when  the 
''feeding  the  carnivora"  sign  is  out,  she 
would  play  up  the  pieces  that  don't  even 
get  a  mention  on  the  bill -of -fare  of  a  two- 
dollar  country  hotel.  She  would  begin 
by  saying  in  a  please- don't- all-speak- at- 
once  tone,  "  Now,  children,  who  wants 
this  dear  little  neck  ?  "  and  naturally  they 
all  wanted  it,  because  it  was  pretty  plain 
to  them  that  it  was  something  extra  sweet 
and  juicy.  So  she  would  allot  it  as  a 
301 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

reward  of  goodness  to  the  child  who  had 
been  behaving  best,  and  throw  in  the 
gizzard  for  nourishment.  The  nice  old 
lady  always  helped  herself  last,  and  there 
was  nothing  left  for  her  but  white  meat. 

It  isn't  the  final  result  which  the  nice 
old  lady  achieved,  but  the  first  one,  that 
I  want  to  commend.  A  child  naturally 
likes  the  simple  things  till  you  teach  him 
to  like  the  rich  ones ;  and  it's  just  as  easy 
to  start  him  with  books  and  amusements 
that  hold  sense  and  health  as  those  that 
are  filled  with  slop  and  stomach-ache.  A 
lot  of  mothers  think  a  child  starts  out  with 
a  brain  that  can't  learn  anything  but 
nonsense;  so  when  Maudie  asks  a  sensible 
question  they  answer  in  goo-goo  gush. 
And  they  believe  that  a  child  can  digest 
everything  from  carpet  tacks  to  fried 
steak,  so  whenever  Willie  hollers  they 
think  he's  hungry,  and  try  to  plug  his 
throat  with  a  banana. 

You  want  to  have  it  in  mind  all  the  time 
while  you're  raising  this  boy  that  you 
302 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

can't  turn  over  your  children  to  subor- 
dinates, any  more  than  you  can  your 
business,  and  get  good  results.  Nurses 
and  governesses  are  no  doubt  all  right  in 
their  place,  but  there's  nothing  "just  as 
good"  as  a  father  and  mother.  A  boy 
doesn't  pick  up  cuss- words  when  his 
mother's  around  or  learn  cussedness  from 
his  father.  Yet  a  lot  of  mothers  turn 
over  the  children,  along  with  the  horses 
and  dogs,  to  be  fed  and  broken  by  the 
servants,  and  then  wonder  from  which 
side  of  the  family  Isobel  inherited  her 
weak  stomach,  and  where  she  picked  up 
her  naughty  ways,  and  why  she  drops  the 
h's  from  some  words  and  pronounces 
others  with  a  brogue.  But  she  needn't 
look  to  Isobel  for  any  information,  be- 
cause she  is  the  only  person  about  the 
place  with  whom  the  child  ain't  on  free 
and  easy  terms. 

I  simply  mention  these  things  in  pass- 
ing. Life  is  getting  broader  and  business 
bigger  right  along,  and  we've  got  to  breed 

303 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

a  better  race  of  men  if  we're  going  to  keep 
just  a  little  ahead  of  it.  There  are  a  lot 
of  problems  in  the  business  now — trust 
problems  and  labor  problems — that  I'm 
getting  old  enough  to  shirk,  which  you 
and  the  boy  must  meet,  though  I'm  not 
doing  any  particular  worrying  about 
them.  While  I  believe  that  the  trusts 
are  pretty  good  things  in  theory,  a  lot 
of  them  have  been  pretty  bad  things  in 
practice,  and  we  shall  be  mighty  slow  to 
hook  up  with  one. 

The  trouble  is  that  too  many  trusts 
start  wrong.  A  lot  of  these  fellows  take 
a  strong,  sound  business  idea — the  econ- 
omy of  cost  in  manufacture  and  selling 
—and  hitch  it  to  a  load  of  the  rottenest 
business  principle  in  the  bunch — the  in- 
flation of  the  value  of  your  plant  and 
stock — ,  and  then  wonder  why  people  hold 
their  noses  when  their  outfit  drives  down 
Wall  Street.  Of  course,  when  you  stop  a 
little  leakage  between  the  staves  and 
dip  out  the  sugar  by  the  bucket  from  the 
304 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

top,  your  net  gain  is  going  to  be  a 
deficit  for  somebody.  So  if  these  fellows 
try  to  do  business  as  they  should  do  it, 
by  clean  and  sound  methods  and  at  fair 
and  square  prices,  they  can't  earn  money 
enough  to  satisfy  their  stockholders,  and 
they  get  sore ;  and  if  they  try  to  do  busi- 
ness in  the  only  way  that's  left,  by  club- 
bing competition  to  death,  and  gouging 
the  public,  then  the  whole  country  gets 
sore.  It  seems  to  me  that  a  good  many 
of  these  trusts  are  at  a  stage  where  the  old 
individual  character  of  the  businesses 
from  which  they  came  is  dead,  and  a  new 
corporate  character  hasn't  had  time  to 
form  and  strengthen.  Naturally,  when  a 
youngster  hangs  fire  over  developing  a 
conscience,  he's  got  to  have  one  licked 
into  him. 

Personally,  I  want  to  see  fewer  busi- 
nesses put  into  trusts  on  the  canned-soup 
theory — add  hot  water  and  serve — before 
I  go  into  one;  and  I  want  to  know  that 
the  new  concern  is  going  to  put  a  little 

305 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

of  itself  into  every  case  that  leaves  the 
plant,  just  as  I  have  always  put  in  a  little 
of  myself.  Of  course,  I  don't  believe  that 
this  stage  of  the  trusts  can  last,  because, 
in  the  end,  a  business  that  is  founded  on 
doubtful  values  and  that  makes  money 
by  doubtful  methods  will  go  to  smash  or 
be  smashed,  and  the  bigger  the  business 
the  bigger  the  smash.  The  real  trust- 
busters  are  going  to  be  the  crooked  trusts, 
but  so  long  as  they  can  keep  out  of  jail 
they  will  make  it  hard  for  the  sound  and 
straight  ones  to  prove  their  virtue.  Yet 
once  the  trust  idea  strikes  bed-rock,  and 
a  trust  is  built  up  of  sound  properties  on 
a  safe  valuation;  once  the  most  capable 
man  has  had  time  to  rise  to  the  head, 
and  a  new  breed,  trained  to  the  new 
idea,  to  grow  up  under  him;  and  once 
dishonest  competition — not  hard  com- 
petition— is  made  a  penitentiary  offense, 
and  the  road  to  the  penitentiary  macad- 
amized so  that  it  won't  be  impassable 
to  the  fellows  who  ride  in  automobiles — 
306 


LETTERS  TO  HIS  SON 

then  there'll  be  no  more  trust-busting 
talk,  because  a  trust  will  be  the  most 
efficient,  the  most  economical,  and  the 
most  profitable  way  of  doing  business; 
and  there's  no  use  bucking  that  idea  or 
no  sense  in  being  so  foolish  as  to  want 
to.  It  would  be  like  grabbing  a  comet 
by  the  tail  and  trying  to  put  a  twist  in 
it.  And  there's  nothing  about  it  for  a 
young  fellow  to  be  afraid  of,  because  a 
good  man  isn't  lost  in  a  big  business — he 
simply  has  bigger  opportunities  and  more 
of  them.  The  larger  the  interests  at  stake , 
the  less  people  are  inclined  to  jeopardize 
them  by  putting  them  in  the  hands  of 
any  one  but  the  best  man  in  sight. 

I'm  not  afraid  of  any  trust  that's  likely 
to  come  along  for  a  while,  because  Graham 
&  Co.  ain't  any  spring  chicken.  I'm  not 
too  old  to  change,  but  I  don't  expect  to 
have  to  just  yet,  and  so  long  as  the  trust 
and  labor  situation  remains  as  it  is  I  don't 
believe  that  you  and  I  and  the  kid  can  do 
much  better  than  to  follow  my  old  rule : 

307 


OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM'S 

Mind  your  own  business;  own  your  own 
business;  and  run  your  own  business. 
Your  affectionate  father, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 


THE  END. 


308 


